TAP That
by Tribble Master
Summary: Sam's only got 42 hours to live before he has an angst. Dean's trying to help, but he keeps getting turned into a beagle, dies, resrected and then finds the love of life. It's just not a good three days for the winchesters.
1. The Teaser

**Title:** _Prolouge: And then that Glimmer Died  
_**E/O Challenge: Glimmer  
Disclaimer:** Not mine. But I'll share.**  
A/N: READ THIS:** This is my child. I love this story to death. So this drabble, is only the first part. It's like the teaser before the opening credits. If you read this, add it to story alert, because trust me, it's going to be amazing. The end goal of this story is to somehow include EVERY genre of fanfiction out there. So if there's something you want added, comment, review and I'll consider it.

* * *

Eric set down his copy of Carver Edlund's series. A glimmer of hope had come into his life when he found the books. Watching Dean and Sam face endless challenges- He felt he connected with Sam and Dean on an emotional level, with all the angst…but he realized there was no hope.

"Hey silly!" His neighbor walked in. "I brought you pie!"

His shoulders dropped. Nobody loved him! With that, a wave of anxiety overcame him and he fell backwards. His last thought:_ if only _fictitious_ Sam and Dean were here…_

He never woke up again. Somewhere, a ghost laughed.

* * *

(**a/n: CUE THE OPENING CREDITS, this show is about to get started)**


	2. The Setup

**A/N** This first chapter, is the setup. Please review and tell me if there is a genere that you absouletly must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far contiuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it.

**Disclaimer:** Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own.

**Chapter One: In which Jensen Ackles shuddered and stopped reading Fan Fiction**

It was a normal day in the universe that occupied Sam and Dean Winchester. There was a war brewing up in the cosmos between angels and demons. With enough duct tape however, many were assured that the seals would no break. For back up, the Winchesters were kept appraised (mostly) of the situation. Still, it was not their main concern. They had larger issues in their day to day struggle against the forces of evil. In a Circus themed motel room, somewhere in Wisconsin, Dean was trying to reveal some important information to Sam. It was difficult and Dean was struggling for words. Sam was pacing, already unnerved by the clown bed sheets.

"Wait," Sam placed a hand on his temple, "you're trying to tell me that, that, no… that's impossible…"

"It's true Sam," Dean said digging through his weapons duffle, "our lives are controlled by fan girls."

"I don't see any hordes of screaming girls chasing us daily," Sam declared gesturing wildly. "When did you even arrive at this conclusion?"

"Look, Sam, they're here. It's just a matter of noticing these things," Dean said pulling out his gun, "I can even prove it."

With that, Dean quickly shot himself in the face. Sam barely had enough time to run to his side and deliver an angst ridden cry of, "DEEEAN!" before his brother sat up. Dean smiled and patted his wholly unscathed skull. "See? I'm telling you man, they'd never let us get hurt. They sit somewhere dictating out our lives!"

Sam slapped Dean on the side of his head. "I can't believe you just shot yourself in the face. Why not the shoulder?"

"They wouldn't heal it. Shoulder wounds are more angst and family stitching time." Dean shrugged.

Sam quirked an eyebrow. "Maybe. But … alright, I need pie to handle this. And we came here for a case."

Dean snickered. "Why do you even think there is a case here? I mean, really, how many times can Wisconsin be haunted."

Sam shrugged as they grabbed their coats and once more walked out of the motel room and its creepy unicorn decorations. At the diner absorbed in obituaries, and loose papers, they failed to notice the two teenagers walk in. The girls got in to a corner booth and ordered milkshakes. One giggled incessantly, tugging on her ponytail. "Rebecca," she asked sincerely, "do you think this case will end well?"

Rebecca pushed some of her heavy black bangs from her heavily outlined eyes. "No, Erica, I do not think it will."

Both girls giggled, and started scratching ideas on their napkins. As discreetly as two hormonal teenagers can be, they, frequently and fervently, glanced at the Winchesters as often as they could.

"Hey," Sam looked up, "here's one. Eric Jennings, dies of heart attack, 26. Found in his house, among scattered bits of poetry and used tissues."

Dean furrowed his brow. Between mouthfuls of pecan pie he choked out, "So? What do we care if someone TAPed out?"

"Teen angst poetry?" It was a good lead, Sam thought, if this was even a case. He decided to neglect mentioning the growing amount of crumbs on Dean's face. "Well," Sam said brushing his hair aside, "his friends say that over the past forty-eight hours we went from melancholy, to sad, to depressed, to completely angst ridden."

"You think he died of an angst overload?"

"Yea, before this he was just a normal happy-go-lucky guy. It's been him and four others that have all had these kinds of heart attacks."

"Hmm. Well we might be invulnerable to this monster, then," Dean said thoughtfully.

"What do you mean?"

"An Angst Inducing Monster. I don't even think it's possible for us to overload," Dean smirked.

Rebecca looked at Erica and laughed. Sam stood up and paid the check. As they left Dean whispered in his ear, "Hey, I think those two girls have been watching us all during lunch."

"You're crazy," Sam hissed, "and we've got work to do."

**To Be Continued...**


	3. The One Where A Puppy Pouts

**PLEASE READ: **This is the chapter that mocks _wincest_. So for the record, I think wincest is a funny concept, but not something i want on the show. My main issue is if Dean's gay, how come the only guy he can pick up is Sam? Anyway, the wincest will be undone by next chapter. No worries.

Please review and tell me if there is a genere that you absouletly must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far contiuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it.

**Disclaimer:** Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own.

**Chapter Two: Homophobia is Gay**

Over the past couple of hours Sam thought of how much his knee itched. He was trying to, once more, unsuccessfully ignore it as he unlocked the motel room door juggling a stack of old library records. Hopefully, they would shed light on the case's original victim, patient zero. Sam wondered briefly if Dean had looked at all into ways of destroying the monster. Probably not. Unless something drastically changed in the next couple of minutes, it would be a very dull afternoon. Then as he shut the door behind himself, he saw Dean sitting on the edge of Sam's bed pouting. "What's wrong Dean?"

Dean looked up puzzled, his face drawn. He tousled his hair, and with a deep sigh, confessed, "I am strangely, compelled Sam to kiss you passionately or pout until you also admit you feel the same. And then kiss."

The older Winchester stood and looked at his sibling despairingly. Their eyes locked for a brief instant, and Sam saw something flare in Dean's eyes. He set down the papers and patted Dean on the shoulder. "Dean," he said soothingly, trying to choke down the feeling growing inside himself, "we are brothers. That would be awkward. Can't we have a completely platonic relationship?"

Dean brushed Sammy's hand aside. "I don't think, so. I mean your gorgeous wavy brunette locks, your odd bone structure, that's not from our parents…my parents."

As Sam started to protest Dean withdrew a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and handed it to him. "Besides," he said as Sam looked at it, "there is that Certificate of Adoption."

"Oh Thank God, Dean," Sam sighed, "because I have been dying to admit I love you… but it didn't seem right!"

"Oh Sammy, I'm glad we can be honest. I didn't think I could pout much longer before a puppy cried."

Sam lowered his head to Dean and gave into temptation…They embraced, and kissed.

"Hey, guys, what's up?" Asked Castiel as he appeared behind them.

The boys jumped apart. Sam gulped, "Uh, Cas, we just discovered our lives are controlled by fan girls and we're madly in love."

"Oh," Castiel said, feeling suddenly very out of place. He tried to focus on the balloon wall paper dotted with trapeze artists instead of the two brothers, unsuccessfully.

"Is Gay love condoned by Heaven?" Dean blurted. Sam nudged him whispering _watch it. _

Castiel shrugged. "Well, I think so. Why else would God create so many of them?"

"Alrighty then," Sam said loudly, "why are you here?"

"Wanted to know…if, well, you need help. Please?" Castiel looked up at them pleadingly, "I mean, Ghostbusters was a trio."

"Cas," Dean said, looking for a way to let him down gently, "this case, is real simple. After Sam and I kiss more, we were just going to go through and figure out who the ghost is."

The angel brightened. "I can wait outside."

"Um," Sam said, still reeling from his recent romantic revelation, "I guess we can start now."

Dean pouted. Somewhere, a puppy cried. As they started to work they noticed immediately something they hadn't before. Each victim shared a similar rash on their left knee akin to flower. Not only that but the victim's list went a full year. Castiel threw down an old paper and massaged his temple. "This is almost impossible. What kind of death are we looking for?"

"A highly depressing one," Sam said without looking up.

"I got it!" Dean declared.

Sam hugged him proudly. Dean held the paper triumphantly and announced, "Jensen Ackalacki was a teen poet who started writing TAP, and nobody warned him."

Sam grimaced. Castiel looked at the both of them questioningly. "Teen Angst Poetry," Sam muttered, "worst. Thing. Ever. Like crack for your brain."

"But you can quit crack," Dean added sagely.

"Oh," Castiel said understandingly, "I didn't realize it was an acronym now. You know, dinosaurs wrote T.A.P. and mammals wrote happy haikus."

Dean nodded in agreement. "Anyway, everyone left this Jensen character, because of his horrible poetry, and he went into a severe depression. One day he saw a puppy and just snapped, he had a heart attack."

Sam scratched his left knee. "Now we just have to find out how to stop him. I hope a simple salt n' burn works."

Somewhere, in the dark grey corners of the room a ragged ghost sagged. This would call for desperate measures. He watched as his victim frowned, and smiled knowing he could at least conjurer a pessimistic view. Deciding it was best, he vanished, going to his old haunts, where maybe he could figure out how to snap his victim.

"Alright, Cas," Dean said stretching, "it's time you left. We need sleep."

"This is a very dangerous case. I mean, Cavemen invented fire to burn TAP." Castiel said crossing his arms. Dean glared at him, ignoring Castiel's helpful gestures.

Finally Castiel relented, "If you want to be alone, just say so Dean."

"Just go," Sam whined.

There was a fluttering noise as Castiel disappeared.

"Now what?"

**To Be Continued...**


	4. The One Where Objects Change

Reporting live from Seattle! Today, I'm out of my home state visiting relatives. Ironically, I'm posting from the place where this ridiculousness was born. At about this time too...

TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO: everyone out there that insits on writing stories where they turn into objects. you know who you are.

Please review and tell me if there is a genre that you absolutely must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every Monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far continuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it.

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them. Although, I still don't get...they're in one piece....*pouts*

**Chapter Three: Jared Padalacki's Toughest Acting Role**

Sam took another puff of the cigarette and said, "I know that adoption certificate is fake."

Dean rolled over. "So? Why didn't you say something before you got me drunk? And when did you start smoking?"

"I don't," Sam said putting the cigarette in the ash tray and he stood up. He looked over at Dean in the neighboring twin bed, and sighed, "Boy am I glad we only kissed."

"Whatever, Sammantha, I have a feeling those fan girls were behind it."

"Yeah, and a wendigo made you wear those horrible pajamas last night."

"Hey," Dean snapped as he headed for the shower, "Speed Racer is cool."

As Sam made the coffee, he idly scratched his left knee. He heard the shower going and wondered more about Dean's fan girl theory. Dean shooting himself in the face had been a neat trick, but any poser in a parka could do that. Suddenly there was a crash and a yelp. "Dean?" Sam called. He ran over to the bathroom door and started beating it with his fists. "Dean!"

With no response, he kicked open the unlocked door, and burst through. In the middle of the tile floor was a small Beagle puppy. It looked up at the gangly Winchester adoringly with large green eyes.

"Dean?" Sam gasped.

It wagged its fluffy tail. Somewhere, a ghost laughed. Sam shuddered. This would be perfect inspiration for a poem, he thought. When he realized his trail of thoughts he gasped. The ghost was after him! What a crazy random happenstance! Surely no devious minded teenage writer could come up with a plan as sinister as this, his mind raced excitedly.

The small dog scratched at his leg, and whined. Sam was unsure of how to handle the situation, he wondered if next Dean was going to turn into a lamp. Quickly deciding the next appropriate thing to do, he picked Dean up. "I will call you Dianna. And you will be mine."

Dianna whined.

"Well, yes, I know silly. Of course we're going to get you a collar. Every good dog gets a collar."

Dianna pawed at his shoulder. "I'm not sure about that," Sam nodded, "but I guess you've had a ruff day."

He set Dianna down. Then he went over to the fridge, grabbed a beer and poured some in a bowl. "Here you go!"

Dianna sighed and lapped some up. As Sam watched him he spoke, not sure Dianna was listening, but still wanting a confidant. "Anyway, don't be too upset, but uh, I totally have a flower shaped rash on my left knee. Like the other victims."

Dianna howled, his need to protect Sam flared, but was instantaneously overridden by the need to chase the squirrel he saw out the window.

Castiel fluttered into the room. "Hey, Sam," he began ignoring the small beagle, "Where's Dean?"

"He's a dog."

"He's already left you that quickly for some…_chick?_" Castiel gasped.

"No, no, I mean physically. He's a dog. I think it's some ploy by Jensen's ghost to get me to have an angst overload," Sam looked at his feet. "It might work to," he added pessimistically.

**"**Whatever Demon Whore, I don't need your crap**."**Castiel walked over to their research papers. He grudgingly added, "Do you still need help?"

Sam rolled his eyes. This was ridiculous. How could he insult Sam and then offer help? He narrowed his eyes, "Don't you need to stop the apocalypse or something?"

"No. I'm being rebel-ish today. Just today, I gotta stop though." Castiel ran a hand through his hair and smiled. He gave a thumbs up to no one in particular, but heard off in the distance the sounds of fangirls swooning. The action had an effect on Sam too, who momentarily forgot his anger. He was dazzled.

"It's okay, rebels are cool," Sam half-smiled.

Dianna quirked one eyebrow, and looked from one to the other. Where they actually on the verge of being NICE to each other? He howled. Attention in the room went back to him instantaneously. That's better, he thought. As loud as he could, he declared, "We really should get back to the case guys. Honestly, Sam, you have what 46 hours left? And we have no idea how to deal with this. For all you know we have to cheer the ghost up and make it repent it's T.A.P. ways."

All Castiel and Sam heard was a small series of yelps and barks. "What an adorable puppy," Castiel cooed, "he probably needs to go outside."

"Let's take him on a walk. While we're outside I can tell you about some poetry ideas I had…"

"Sounds good," Castiel smiled, conjuring up a purple leash and collar set. "Maybe we can brainstorm on how kill the ghost to. You have what, 46 hours left?"

"That's true," Sam agreed amiably, "I think the ghost just needs to cheer up."

Dianna howled. "Poor little guy," Castiel murmured, "where'd you get him again?"

From the corner of the room, Jensen shimmered. Was it possible for two people to find friendship in this grim world? For the first time in years, Jensen felt hope. He quickly shrugged it off though, in favor of haunting people and writing poetry.

**To Be Continued...**

**I'm changing my profile picture so you can see what happened to Dean. But just till Wednesday. Also, there's an invisible fan in this chapter. Like, a fan, that blows air. It's there. Trust me. **

**Also- thanks again for all the amazing reviews!**


	5. The One Where TAP is Demonstrated

TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO: everyone out there that insits on writing stories where Dean is badly hurt and Sam watches over him. Aww.

**Kudos to CAS 94 for her most excellent TAP. Excellent! *air guitar solo***

**I'm in a good mood today, and that is a win for my readers. It's a lose for Sam and Dean, though. *evil grin***

Please review and tell me if there is a genre that you absolutely must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every Monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far continuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it.

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them. Although, I still don't get...they're in one piece....*pouts*

Chapter Four The One Where Sam Girls And Dean Girls Find A Common Enemy: Bad Teenage Writers

"Rebecca!" Erica screeched, "What were you thinking!"

"About Sam…mmmm, Sam…" Rebecca said dreamily.

"No! I meant about this whole…hopeful, friendship theme! People will think that the boys have a chance at surviving this unscathed!"

"Oh," Rebecca lowered her eyes. "I, well, I just thought, it would make our story, deeper. Y'know."

"No, Rebecca," Erica reprimanded, "I don't know where you're going with this. Paper is 2D. It doesn't get deeper!"

Erica sighed. She looked around the room, trying to draw inspiration from the assorted Supernatural artifacts. Not even the plastic Ken doll she had made over to imitate Dean, gave her comfort. Rebecca was silent, she felt very sad. Sam had not been turned into a kitten, as per her suggestions and Dean was stuck as a beagle. Boring. But then… "Hey, wait," Rebecca smiled, trying to redeem herself, "what about this…."

-s-s-s-s-s-

As Castiel and Sam walked through the park they came to several agreements. Firstly, My heart bleeds black, is no way to start a decent poem. I am a pinecone in the Forrest of pain had way more possibilities. Secondly, this ghost was going to have to be cheered up. On a massive scale. Bigger than a surprise birthday party with ponies. Sadly, they hadn't quite agreed what could be bigger than that.

"We could throw in passes to Chucky Cheese," Castiel added.

"Maybe. Or… concert tickets, I heard some country stars are in town," Sam said thoughtfully.

"And Country is considered a safe alternative to T.A.P," Castiel nodded. "I think this could work. Minus the ponies, surprise birthday, and Chucky Cheese. Just concert tickets."

"Yeah, Chucky Cheese doesn't have very good ponies. But they do have mutant rats…"

And thirdly, they realized a beagle puppy was a great way to meet women. As the talked Dianna rolled his eyes. He wondered if they would ever shut up. He looked around the park to see if there were any hot bitches he could talk to. He wagged his tail excitedly when he saw a sexy Pekingese. As his head was turned he didn't see the child on a tricycle careening towards him. Neither did his two caregivers.

The kid hit him full in the ribs, pinning him to the ground. He whimpered pitifully. As a result, several attractive blondes gathered around Sam and Castiel. Dean howled, louder, so that they would realize that he was in pain. When they did, Sam was suddenly watching over him. Worry lines written all over his face. "Oh Dianna, I'm so sorry…it's going to be okay…"

Dianna relaxed at Sam's touch. He knew in an instant that no matter what, Sam was watching over him. Sam wasn't leaving, Sam would make it better. Sam looked down at him and whispered, "I promise you I'll do whatever it takes to undo this … I'll make you human again, Dianna. I will."

Castiel peered over Sam's shoulder. "I can do that," he said nonchalantly.

"What?" Dianna and Sam exclaimed. However, it really sounded like WHAT and a playful YIP.

Castiel shrugged, "Well, I thought you liked him as a puppy."

Sam paused, "well…yeah… no, wait a minute… Change him back now!"

Castiel raised his arms defensively. "Yeah, yeah… one second…"

Castiel rolled up his sleeves, and then snapped. It was a very jazzy snap, complete with a magical fedora and base in the background.

Dianna began to shake and then the air around him shimmered. He was Dean again! He lay on the pavement, still clad in Speed Racer pajamas, and still hurting. Sam was kneeling over him, waiting for a response. Dean punched him in the face. "That is for calling me Dianna, jerk."

"Bitch," Sam joked, helping him to his feet. Sam studied Dean's face. "Is something broken?"

"Yeah, my ribs. Shit they better not give that kid a driver's license."

Sam helped Dean back to the motel. "Thank you Sammy," Dean said as Sam patched him up. He quietly added, "It's good to know you're watching over me."

-s-s-s-s-s-s-

"Worst. Idea. Ever." Erica moaned. "this does nothing towards are end goal!"

"Our," Rebecca coughed watching Erica's every word.

"What?"

"You really need a beta. Anyway, I'm not done yet," Rebecca rolled her eyes. "This is where we develop the plot after the deep emotional moment."

"Phine," Erica said dejectedly.

"Fine."

"What?!"

-s-s-s-s-s-

Sam smiled to see Dean feeling better and sleeping at last. His bangs dropped into his face, and for once instead of kicking himself for not getting a haircut, he liked it. The style made him feel emotionally hardcore. But when he realized the full extent of the situation, he stopped smiling. He was sad that he had caused his brother pain. Maybe Dean would get hurt less often if Sam wasn't there.

_I am a pinecone in the forest of pain  
Like an one winged eagle of despair  
I must leave the nest and become  
A bat in the cave of loneliness._

Sam's thoughts drifted into poetry form as he sunk into a mental depression. In the fringes of the room, Jensen fist pumped the air. "Yes!" He was excited to see real progress made. It almost made him want to celebrate by writing a haiku or something.

His ghostly form flickered.

He was to happy to notice.

**To Be Continued...**

**I'm changing my profile picture so you can see what happened to Dean. For those that didn't know, emotionanly hardcore can be abbreiviated to three letters e-m-o.**

**Also- thanks again for all the amazing reviews!**


	6. The Only Proven Cure For TAP

Today is weird ficticous day at the hotel i worked at. i checked in mr. e. cullen (proving he has come to alaska) and a mr. alastair. who knew? maybe sam and dean will be in town...

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO:** everyone out there that insits on writing stories where dean is an over protective, weirdly obssesed with sam big brother.

Please review and tell me if there is a genre that you absolutely must see. Anyway, I hope y'all enjoy. I plan to update every Monday. (pft, but i plan a lot of things). The Story is set up in the fourth season, before the huge amounts of spoilerly stuff was dumped on us. So as far continuity goes, they just know there is a war and they have to stop it. I'm writing the last chapter as we speak!

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them. Although, I still don't get...they're in one piece....*pouts*

**Props to any readers who want to give anonymous reviews like that which Erica describes. **

**Chapter Six: In Which Chuck Drinks An Extra Beer To Cope With What's To Come**

"We need to kick things up a notch," Erica huffed. "Seriously. We've gotten like two reviews. And that was you. Responding to me. Spider monkeys have nothing to do with this piece. They're scary as hell and that's it."

"Kick it up how? What do you mean?" Rebecca said, looking up from the computer. She was unsuccessfully searching for season four spoilers. She was engrossed in the promising possibility of the 66th seal being broken in a series of snappy musical numbers. The whole Dean vs. Sam thing had a chance to be resolved Jets vs. Sharks style.

Erica regained her attention with wild hand gestures. "Let's face it. We're not cut out for this 'angst' business. I like to write fluff."

Rebecca smiled, "you mean like the one with Sam in a tutu?"

Erica remembered. She wouldn't admit to writing one of the more crack style fan fictions, but she recalled very clearly her, well she thought, amazing descriptions. "No, I meant like the one where Dean was pregnant…"

Rebecca scrunched up her nose in distaste. Eric quickly defended herself, "look, I'm not the only one. Anyway, missing the point. We're fluffy. We need an angst specialist."

Rebecca gulped, "You mean like, Lizzy?"

Erica shuddered. "Yes. We need to call her."

They shuddered not in fear, but in the fact that once Lizzy was in, nothing would be the same. The constant re-write demands, grammar corrections- Lizzy literally beat their stories to death. She had a knack for finding some of the best stuff on the Internet, but then she would also endlessly find ways to improve it.

Lizzy sat at her house, stroking her small beagle puppy as she searched the internet for possible amusement. She discovered a story of Tom Riddle/ Indiana Jones tryst, something called Plastic!Winchester, and several instances of un-amusing inspirational posters. When her phone rang she ignored it. But finally, knowing she couldn't stall fate brushed back her light brunette bangs and picked up the phone.

"Hello?"

She heard her assignment. To prevent hyper-ventilation she grabbed a nearby brown paper bag and took several deep breaths. Then she hunkered down, excited to be included in something this epic….

-s-s-s-s-s-

Dean sat up in bed, wincing as he breathed. Sam shut his laptop and looked at him. His eyes were worried, and searching. Double checking that only Dean's ribs and ego had been hurt yesterday.

Dean felt sore and was in desperate need of pie. "Stop looking at me like that," he snapped.

Sam whimpered. "Sorry," he mumbled.

Dean looked at his brother's eyes and was overcome with pity. "Ahh…Sammy…don't….Ah, don't feel sad. You need to cheer up."

Sam snorted. "Why? You've gone to hell and there's a high potential that when I came back from the dead I was permanently altered. There's no hope Dean."

Dean couldn't think of any real response, except, "You should cheer up because I'm your brother and I said so."

Years of training compelled Sam to cheer up. Just a tiny bit. He scratched his left knee, knowing that the ghost was working his terrible magic. The reminder that he was a victim of a ghost instantly re-crushed his spirit.

Castiel shimmered into their reality, smiling excitedly. He saw his charge sitting on the bed, but then he heard Sam whimpering. Castiel walked over to Sam and put a hand on his shoulder, he tried to half-smile, encouraging Sam to do the same. "Hey, man, are you okay?

Dean threw his hands in the air. "What are you doing Castiel? He's MY brother. I cheer him up!"

The older Winchester, quickly stood up (a mistake to be sure, his re-adjusted bones were not fully ready to accept they had gone from human to canine to human in one day), and wobbled over to Sam. Castiel glared, "Look Dean, you're upsetting him more. The entire garrison agrees you're _so_ full of shit."

Dean stuck his tongue out and put his arm around the ghost's most recent victim. Sam, sandwiched between them, shook. "I don't mean to have such a chick flick moment, but it's just that, I feel so…"

"Angsty?" Dean suggest helpfully.

"Exactly!" Sam cried, now sobbing, "I feel so angsty, it's tearing me apart inside."

"Look what you've done," Castiel hissed at Dean. "Would you feel better if I took you rollerblading?"

Castiel handed him a handkerchief. "Okay," Sam sniffled.

Dean glared at them. "And you know what," Castiel continued, much to Dean's displeasure, "I got concert tickets to stop our ghostly friend!"

"Oh boy!"

Dean rolled his eyes. "And I started resarching where he's burried so we can burn his corpse!"

Castiel glared at him. Dean sulked. This was his brother dammit. It was his damn job to cheer him up. As Castiel and Sam eagerly discussed the upcoming concert, Dean angrily stalked off to go get waffles, the only proven cure to T.A.P..

At the store, he was busily searching for the tastiest waffles he could find.

Then the screams started.

Dean ran up aisle 3 to the checkout line. To his dismay, the store was being robbed. Shots were being fired. Dean rolls his eyes. Stupid Winchester luck.

In his ear he heard Alistair whisperer, "It's time to come home, Dean."

**To Be Continued....**

**UNCLE SAM NEEDS YOU!!! **

**Here's how you can help sam:**

**PM Me a name you want to go by ( elise, amber, whatever) and something you would say to him to cheer him up. include one detail about yourself: descriptive of your apperance (blonde) or personality (bubbly). **

**But only of course if you want to play a cruical role in the end. **

**rock on!**


	7. The Angst Ridden Grab A Tissue One

**Here's how you can help sam:  
****PM Me a name you want to go by ( elise, amber, whatever) and something you would say to him to cheer him up. include one detail about yourself: descriptive of your apperance (blonde) or personality (bubbly). **

**But only of course if you want to play a cruical role in the end. **

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO:** everyone out there that insits on writing _deathfics. _

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them. Although, I still don't get...they're in one piece....*pouts*

**Remember **how I said this story was to involve_ EVERY_ type of fan fiction? **WARNING:** SUPER ANGSTY CHAPTER- DEATH FIC!!!

**Chapter Seven: Kill Dean Vol. 1.** (_or is it volume 20? Does anyone keep track of how often he dies on the show?)_

Dean had learned early in life that one thing that would stayed permanent was Sam, his Sammy that he had risked everything to save time and time again. Now that he had Sam back there was no way he would let some wannabe poet ghost take him.

He surveyed his choices again. He remembered buying waffles before for Sammy, when they were younger. It makes him smile to recall Sam waking up Saturdays with the biggest grin. Dean never liked motel life, but that was one of the moments that grounds him and defines his concept of home.

When he hears the first scream, he assumes there needs to be clean up on aisle 3. But more people are screaming, and there is one loud, defiant voice among them. Hunter instincts kick in and he runs down aisle 3, nearly slipping on the wet mess of blood. At the row of neat and orderly cashier stands is chaos.

"Everybody get down!" Screams the man with the gun. He's flanked on either side by like-wise dressed companions, each toting their own lethal weapon. They separate as each goes up to the victims to collect wallets. Dean doesn't think they've noticed him, and he slinks back into the shadows of aisle 3. Among the spilled and broken cereal, is a dead security guard. If he wasn't sure before, he is now. These idiots are deadly serious. Well, Dean thought, two can play that game.

Dean withdraws his gun; glad to see he's reloaded. The first one walks by him. He taps hid shoulder and as he turns to face him, he slams a box of waffles into his face. "How do you like them waffles, eh?"

Gingerly, he takes the gun from the unconscious criminal. Now to add to his displeasure, he'd have to go get another box of waffles. As Dean moves through the grocery store, he sees two kids shuddering next to a display. Brothers from the looks of it, and the eldest is wrapping his arms around the other. Dean crouches down in front of them. "It will be okay," he promises, hoping that works.

The younger, sandy haired one nods, then starts muttering, "it will…it will be okay..."

The older one hugs him tighter, "That's right Seth. It will be okay…"

Dean walks away from the pair. He hates this store with every step for reminding him of what family used to mean to him and Sam. It wasn't always about duty and endless orders first, it was about family first. They were both hurting inside, but they wouldn't acknowledge it with the all the apocalypse drama being more important.

He promises himself he's going to beat these robbers to a pulp and then he's going to go home and help Sam. And not just with this angst business, but with everything.

Dean knows his thoughts are losing their focus as he approaches the next robber. But he doesn't see the third appear behind him. "A hero, eh?" the leader booms.

As Dean turns, the gun is fired.

Doesn't matter.

Got to get home.

Got to help Sam.

Got to end this.

He's sure the bullet missed, because his legs are pumping and he moves forward. In one fluid motion he pulls out his gun, aims, and pulls the trigger. Dean fires and watches as the leader's look of puzzlement dies with him. Dean smiles only to collapse on a display of tomatoes.

His clothes stain a deep red and he's still trying to figure out if blueberry waffles were the right choice. As a crowd gathers around him, people gasp in horror. He looks down at his chest and the seeping blood. Dean reasons that all he needs is some stitches and he'll be fine. An EMT is touching him now, shaking his sadly. Dean wants to yell at them, but his voice dies in his throat. The pain is so bad, but the heartache is worse. Even as he screams at his muscles to regain control, he slips into a permanent state of unconsciousness.

Alistair's voice fills his ear with a dry chuckle that Dean knows so well. It's not the hooks in his skin that make him panic, but seeing Alistair, toying with another knife, really sends him over the edge. Because if he's here... if he's really… Dean drops his head in frustration.

He's failed Sam again.

**To Be Continued....**

**....sorry....**


	8. The Antique Moustache

Okay? Are we all recovering from last week's shock okay? My bad. Also- Tru Fax: Misha totally auditioned for this role. Then found out it was really an angel. He was snarky and everything. Sigh. You'll see.

If you're from **New Jersey** I'm sorry!!!

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO:** everyone out there that insits on writing _wee!chester. _

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them.

**Chapter Eight: The One Where Misha Collins Gets the Role He Was Meant To Play**

"Holy Shit." Erica says mouth agape.

"That's one hell of a specialist," Rebecca agrees, eyes wide, glistening with small tears.

Lizzy looks at them proudly. "Do you like it?"

Rebecca and Erica share a look. Rebecca looks Lizzy, "Yes and no. …Why is he dead!?"

"Angst, duh." Lizzy smiles "Don't worry. We can fix that."  
s-s-s-s-s-s-

As Castiel was showing Sam the concert tickets that they hoped would cheer up the ghost, Jensen Ackalacki appeared before them. "Hey, guys," he chattered excitedly, "I just wanted to say, love your work. The way you just build up on that angst. … It's amazing. So I'm extending your overload by five hours."

He wiggled his eyebrows, "Your pain, my gain."

With a little wave, he left gone as quickly as he had come.

Sam sat there holding the tickets, screaming, "Wait! I didn't get to say anything!"

Castiel groaned. "Sam, at this point, it'll just be easier to burn his corpse."

"But we don't know where he's buried!" Sam said, exasperated.

Castiel was about to reply when he heard a buzz at the back of his ear. "Shit," he said, reacting to the news he heard on Angel Radio. He ran a hand through his hair, unsure of how to explain this recent development to the emotionally unstable Sam.

Sam saw Castiel tense up. "What's wrong Cas? Angel sense tingling?"

"I'll be right back, Sam- Dean's, uh… he's in trouble."

Sam jumped up, anger coursed through his veins fueling him into action. "Where. Is. Dean. What happened! Tell me now!"

Castiel looked at Sam, and his voice turned hard and emotionless. "Stay here, Sam. I'll be right back."

Before Sam could protest more, Castiel was gone. This was serious. Sam started to fret; he turned on the news and saw the lead story: Grocery Store Robbed, Two fatalities, One Injury.

Sam stopped thinking, stopped moving, he just shut down. He stopped listening to the TV as it described Dean, asking for anyone who knew this John Doe. He stopped breathing, his voice suddenly hoarse from a scream that he didn't know he had made. He dropped to his knees, his eyes blurry. "Not again," he whispered.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s

Deep in bowels of hell, Castiel stuck on his fake mustache. Curling one end of it absentmindedly with his finger, he chuckled. He was trying his best to get into character. He slumped his shoulders, cocked his head to the side, and put on a scowl. "If this disguise worked, before it can work again."

He finished putting on his plumber's uniform, tucking his wings neatly into the jumpsuit. After storing his halo in the breast pocket he marched in. "Hey Cas!" one of the other maintenance men called.

"Hey Pete," Cas growled back, "working hard or hardly working?"

Pete laughed, and walked away, calling over his shoulder, "Always with the jokes, eh?"

As Cas turned around to look at the schedule for the day, he nearly ran into one of the pit bosses. "Watch that attitude boy," the demon hissed. "We will not hesitate to beat employees until good morale improves."

"Yessir," Cas smiled, doing a mock salute. As he passed Cas mumbled, "Dick."

On the schedule he saw that Dean was in Pit 9 ¾. "Oh, that's a tricky one to get to," he sighed.

After this whole thing was over, Cas was going to have a talk with Dean. He was really getting sick of dragging him out of perdition. It was just a fluke that he had drawn the short straw on the job, but he had no idea it would happen so often. Besides, all this heat was very damaging to his antique mustache collection. He picked up his tool kit and slithered away.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s

Sam still wasn't going to accept this. Castiel had left him to help Dean, right? So it was like he wasn't really… No, Sam wouldn't even think the word. At that moment the ghost appeared and pushed some alcohol towards him. Sam accepted, and sipped his beer. Silent tears leaked down his cheek as memories flooded him.

_(flashback!)_

Another hunt. Another town. Another Motel and they were all alone. Sam grew up with a definition of home that was never normal. It was in Dean he saw what other kids called home. It was one of those weeks. The summer was too hot, and they were too bored. Dean was twirling one of Dad's knives. Sammy tugged on his sleeve, looking up at his 10 year old brother. "Dean," the six year old whined, "Dean, you shouldn't play with daddy's knives."

Dean looked down at him, loosing track of the twirling blade. "Sammy, it's fine."

As he spoke the words the knife slipped. It fell to the ground cutting open Dean's palm. Sam first learned to swear as he heard his brother utter a string of words that he presumed were very very bad."Get the first aid kit. Now." Dean snapped, his eye full of rage.

Sammy ran to the bathroom quickly, grabbing it, eyes watering.

"Aw, Sammy, don't cry," Dean said taking the kit, "I'm not mad at you."

Sam watched, for the first of many incidents, as Dean bit his lip, focusing on solving the problem. He later learned that this was the tell-tale sign that Dean was hiding what-ever pain he was in for Sam's sake. At six he just thought, what a strong brother he had, a superhero probably, to be invulnerable and not cry like that.

Sam watched as Dean started humming a song and then began placing stitches in his palm. "Okay," Dean said in between deep breaths and needle pulls, "you were right, squirt. Never play with Daddy's knives."

"Never again?"

"Never again," promised Dean.

Sam repeated these words to himself years later, still kneeling, reeling on the motel floor, "Never again."

Even if they somehow managed to trap this ghost, burn his corpse, whatever it took to free Sam from its diabolical hold- Sam still doubted Dean could keep all his promises. The world wasn't safe anymore for six year old hopes and dreams.

Sam walked over to their weapons duffle and pulled out one of John's old knives. He felt the sharp tip on his thumb.  
He couldn't control the war that was brewing, and he couldn't stop the way Dean was falling apart. He felt like he couldn't control anything anymore.

But he could control this.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s-s

Dean's echoing cries filled the pit. He begged for Alistair to stop, hating the way his body gave up so easily. "Dean," Alistair chuckled, "you didn't answer the question!"

Dean grunted, "Never!"

Alistair turned one of dials, making Dean scream louder. "It's not that hard Dean."

Alistair smirked, "Which do you like more… Hannah Montana or Miley Cyrus?"

The more Dean refused, the more _Best of Both Worlds_ was turned up to ear deafening volumes. Dean sobbed wishing he was just a fly on wall instead of stuck on the rack. Just as Alistair was about to change the song to _The Climb_, he noticed a maintenance man whistling in the corner. Dean, racked with inner turmoil, looked over the at the maintenance man with the vaudeville villain style mustache and didn't recognize him. He had really been hoping it would be Castiel.

"Yes?" Alistair snarled at the hapless janitor.

The janitor looked up from his mopping and smiled, "Oh, uh sorry, buddy, am I interrupting something? Youse two love birds needa room?"

Alistair recognized the Jersey accent, and knew this was no impersonator. "Oh, um, no," Alistair said politely to his fellow employee. "How long do you think you'll take?"

The man looked up at the ceiling, twiddling with his mustache. "I dunno, uh, say an hour?"

"You know what, I'll just go," Alistair said shrugging. He gestured at Dean. "I can finish this later."

"I can leave too!" Dean chirped up helpfully.

"Nah, you'll be fine right here," Alistair chuckled, putting the song on repeat. Dean cringed as Alistair swaggered away smugly.

"Hey bub, you need a hand?"

Dean stopped humming a collection of Styx, Metallica, and Blue Oyster Cult to stare at the janitor who was happily mopping the floor. "Are you talking to me?"

The janitor looked up, and tipped his hat. "At your service."

Dean didn't want to press his luck but he blurted, "Can you get me the hell outta here?"

The janitor paused to think about it. Then he shrugged, "you know I could lose my job for this…"

The broken Winchester's shoulders sagged a little, but as he heard the janitor's dry chuckle, he looked up hopefully. The janitor walked over to him, long confident strides and ran his hand over Dean's arm. "Whoa, whoa, what are you doing?" Dean freaked out.

"Trust me." The janitor winked, and pressed his arm into Dean's shoulder.

Even when Dean thought he had experienced every type of pain imaginable, this was new. The fire that spread across his body also came with a chill from the point of contact. When he started to scream no voice came out and he found himself frozen, unable to move as time and reality seemed to bend around him.

As he blacked out he heard the man whisper: "Sam misses you Dean."

He woke up in a morgue, the metal slab cold against his back. As he sat up he saw the same janitor tenderly removing his mustache. "Castiel!" he gasped as he recognized the familiar features.

The angel smiled. "Let's get back to Sam before he looses it."

Dean jumped up quickly, a little dizzy from the journey, but what was pain to him when his brother was in trouble? All action, Dean stopped for a moment to notice he now had matching handprints- one on each shoulder. "Nice, Cas. You couldn't have touched the same shoulder?"

Castiel shrugged, he was gingerly letting his wings unfold. "They're like mini wings."

Dean rolled his eyes. "Let's go."

**To Be Continued....**

**Here's how you can help sam:  
PM Me** a name you want to go by ( elise, amber, whatever) and something you would say to him to cheer him up. include one detail about yourself: descriptive of your apperance (blonde) or personality (bubbly).

**But only of course if you want to play a cruical role in the end. **


	9. Intense Eye Contact

In your reviews, if you would be so kind, please include the exact moment where you fell out of your chair laughing. Thank you.

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO:**everyone out there that insits on writing brotherly fluff, and actually this chapter is devoted to every fanfiction writer out there. Without you guys, normal society would call me crazy. But I ain't anwsering the phone.

And since last chapter's _wee!chester_was so angsty, you can expect more randomly disperesed memories.

**SPOILER ALERT: **This does give away one of the more EPIC spoilers of season 4, the one with Sam and the thing and the place and the girl. If you know what I mean. Specifically episode _the Rapture._

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them.

**Chapter Nine: In Which A Wall More Epic Than The Great Wall of China and The Berlin Wall Combined Is Broken**

It was a moment any Bay Watch director could be proud of. As Sam heard the key in the motel lock time slowed down. He stopped fumbling with the first aid kit, all thoughts about his injured hand set aside as he watched to see who was coming through the door.

As Dean crossed the threshold, the overwhelming emotions trapped words in his throat.

"Sam!" was all he could choke out, but he meaning was loud and clear: I have missed you t_erribly_, and am unbelievably happy to see you!

"Dean!" Sam acknowledged, in turn meaning: It makes my heart fill with sunshine to see you again, now we should hug!

Dean ran across the room in slow motion yelling again. "Sam!," which Sam took to mean; Yes, even though I say I hate it, I have always wanted to hug you because I'm emotionally desperate for your attentions.

Sam smiled, "Dean!" His word was muffled in Dean's shoulder as they embraced. Dean knew he meant to say; And you will always have my adoration because I think you're a superhero.

There was silence as they held each other in a steel grip hug. In the doorway, Castiel stood unsure of what to do. He removed his sunglasses and put them in the pocket of his leather jacket. He sighed, walking in and shutting the door. It was moments like these, when he was stuck watching the Winchesters for too long, that he wished he and his siblings could show such raw emotions.

He gave a small cough to recapture their attention. Sam glared at him over Dean's shoulder. "Um," Castiel faltered under the powerful intensity of Sam's gaze. "I know you guys have been busy with, y'know, everything, and so I did some research…and, uh Sam you're bleeding all over Dean by the way. Anyway I found out…"

The two brothers broke apart, instantly mad at Castiel for interrupting the hug.

"Research!" Sam exclaimed, amazed at the arrogant angel. He had been under the impression Castiel's only talent was appearing at awkward moments.

"Bleeding!" Dean exclaimed, amazed to see Sam was injured. He had been under the impression everything was on it's way to being okie-dokie.

Castiel, slightly miffed at being interrupted, started to explain his discovery, but Sam was already taking all the attention. He was backing in the kitchenette, trying to clear up confusion. "It's nothing Dean," he said hurriedly, "Just a scratch."

Dean looked closer; disappointed he hadn't notice before the red puffy eyes, the trickle of blood on Sam's wrist. Sam was making himself busy with the first aid kit, but that didn't stop the older Winchester form grabbing his wrist. Dean raised one eyebrow at the gash on Sam's palm that bled onto his arm.

Sam yanked away his arm. "I was chopping onions. To sauté them," he hissed.

Dean looked over Sam's shoulder at the frying pan, cutting board, and half chopped onion. "I like sautéed onions."

"Exactly." His eyes narrowed. "Welcome home."

"They're good in omelets!" Castiel added cheerfully. He was combing styling gel through his hair with a sleek black comb. He pouted. "Do you guys want to know what I discovered or not?"

Sam and Dean broke their intense eye contact and turned to stare at the angel, who had again interrupted their bonding moment. Castiel withered under the dual glares.

"Let me guess, Dallas," Dean said dryly, "the amazing book _the Outsiders?"_

"Or," Sam chimed in," were you inspired by the amazing musical_ Grease_?"

Castiel looked down at his worn blue jeans (hole over one knee), white tee-shirt, and black leather jacket. "I don't know what you're talking about," he sniffed, "Besides. It's casual Friday."

"It's…not…Friday." Dean said between clenched teeth. Castiel took out his Aviators and resumed wearing them, but now for protection from the death stares.

Uriel showed up then, he stared at the Winchesters, then Castiel. He smiled, "Castiel, you should just tell them already."

He turned to leave as his message was delivered…

"Wait." Castiel stood up and walked over to his brother. With his back turned, Dean rolled his eyes to see the Thunderbirds logo. After minuets of intense whispering Uriel nodded back, "I don't think they'll go for it, but okay."

With that, he smacked Castiel's ass, "Thanks for last night."

Castiel blushed, "Yeah, if you ever need me to fix your flat tire again just call."

Uriel disappeared with a smug grin on his face. Dean and Sam exchanged glances, deciding to forgive Castiel momentarily for interrupting their hug. Dean grabbed the first band aid he saw, "So?"

As the angel answered, Dean smoothed it on to Sam's palm with careful touch.

"I know where Ackalacki is buried."

Sam was momentarily distracted by the pink princess Band-Aid he wore. "Oh," he smiled, then looking up, "Really?"

Dean smiled too, and in a moment of excitement he hugged Sam. Then he realized this did not fit his standard of 'cool' and so he broke it off. Hugging, Dean thought, was only cool after they had been separated, emotionally traumatized, or both. They could hug after this case, he decided.

In the shady areas of the room, a ghost flickered. A passing spirit, the last patron of the motel room in fact, handed him a handkerchief to wipe away Jensen's lone tear, "…so beautiful." He was truly touched by the brotherly bond. It would be sad when he destroyed it. He chuckled to hear Castiel's revelation. "You will never find me!" he laughed maliciously, "for I am like the one finned walrus of deception!"

He walked off, or rather, floated away into nothingness. As Sam and Castiel discussed details of their next move, Dean noticed the blue crayon that had been left on the kitchen table. He found himself staring off into a different time as an old memory washed over him.

"Remember, Dean," he could hear Dad's voice saying, "never write poetry. It is a dangerous habit and girls don't really dig the whole 'sensitive artist type.'"

Dean had been 7 then, not used to hiding his feelings. He looked into John Winchester's stern brown eyes and dropped his favorite blue crayon. He didn't understand. First off, girls where icky. And two, he'd been writing a Father's Day poem before being interrupted. "Promise me Dean, this is an order."

Dean looked at the half scribbled paper his dad was destroying, the words- _my dad's a hero, _slowly disappearing. "Yessir," Dean complied.

He vowed from then on, he would never use writing as an outlook for his emotions. It would be easier to bottle it up inside. Besides, his young mind reasoned, he had to take care of Sam, he couldn't focus on himself. Secondly, he vowed, cooties or not, to figure out what the deal was with girls.

"Dean?" Sam repeated breaking the memory, "Did you hear me?"

Dean stared blankly at his brother, "Yes?"

"So we have enough?"

"Yeah, I got enough," Dean said firmly wondering what the hell they were talking about.

Sam smiled, "You idiot." He turned back to Castiel, "Alright, so we have two shovels. We can…"

"Wait a minute," Dean leaned in, "Why am I an idiot this time?"

Castiel snickered. He and Sam shared a look, agreeing that it would be _okay _to let Dean in on the private joke. "We asked you if…" Castiel started but stopped to suppress a fit of giggles.

"No, let me tell it, let me tell it!" Sam said in one breath, signaling for Castiel to stop talking. He took a deep breath. "Like you just went blank man!"

Castiel popped his collar (effectively saving a balloon), "Totally spaced out."

"So we asked you," Sam paused for a laugh, "Do you wear any tutus?"

Castiel pointed at him, "You totally nodded and were like 'yessir!'"

Dean's jaw dropped, suddenly aware of the slight color change he was undergoing.

"And then-"

Dean couldn't believe there was more.

"-we asked you if you had a collection of them!"

Castielruffled his hair and gave a steely imitation of Dean. "Yeah I got enough."

The pair started laughing hysterically, and in the heat of the moment they threw their arms around each other's shoulders in the spirit of camaraderie. All mirth vanished as they quickly disentangled to stare at the carpet awkwardly. Sam glanced at Castiel out of the corner of his eye. As they caught each other's gaze, Sam turned to stare at the bed and Castiel the wall. Sam brushed a lock of hair away from his face, "So, um, we're gonna go dig up the grave in a couple of hours."

"Whatever," Castiel said, attempting to sound extra tough.

"Oh." Sam said dejectedly.

Dean shifted his gaze from one to the other. He felt as helpless as when he had been that beagle. "Sounds good Sam and you know what?"

"What?" Sam looked up, his face covered in worry lines, heart break, and angst.

"I'll let you pick the music."

Sam smiled. He and Deaen resumed making intense eye contact as Sam explained the details Dean hadn't been paying attetion to. Castiel rolled his eyes suddenly feeling very unwanted. He disappeared with no one noticing.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s

"Are we going to bury Sam _alive?" _Rebbecca squeed, clapping her ink stained hands excitedly.

"No! To over done! And it's stupid." Erica glared running a hand through her short hair. "Like your tutu joke."

Rebbecca flopped down onto the couch bed. "I liked it."

Lizzy sighed, and tossed popcorn at her head. "Really, Rebecca, it wasn't angsty at all."

"A little bit, it was," Rebecca demonstrated by pinching her index and thumb together. She looked at her sleepover buddies. They shook their heads disapprovingly at the silliest of the trio.

Lizzy gave a deep sigh and looked at the others. "Look. Sam's time… it's almost up and even though we've put him through hell, I don't know if he'll overload."

Erica stopped spraying whip cream onto her hot chocolate, and raised an eyebrow. "So? What more can we do?"

"We can send in an undercover agent," Lizzy said dramatically.

"I call dibs! Oh! Oh! Let me!" Rebbecca cheered.

"Wait, wait," Erica hissed. "Are you sure this will work?"

They all smiled, and laughed evilly. "Okay, then let's rock paper scissors for it."

After several intensely debated minuets, Rebbecca was victorious. "Ah, Lizzy," she shook her head, "always with the scissors."

As much as Lizzy hated to admit it, Rebbecca had won. "Alright, let's go get you a cover id."

"And figure out you're back story," Erica chirped, excited to write the next chapter in Rebbecca's life.

Rebbecca smiled as they walked over to Lizzy's closet. "Makeover time!"

As they walked through, grabbing assorted items, Lizzy made a sudden realization.

"But you guys have a plan right?" Lizzy raised an eyebrow. "We're not just gonna throw her in there?"

"Plan?" Rebbecca and Erica asked in unison, "What plan?"

"Good," said a fourth masculine voice, "that'll it make things much easier."

The girls turned around to see a very menacing Uriel standing in Lizzy's living room. Madison, Lizzy's small beagle yipped at the intruder. With one wave of his hand all noise from the beagle ceased.

"Oh…my…god," Rebbecca said, shattering the silence, "You broke the fourth wall!!"

Uriel rolled his eyes. "Parlor trick," he smiled, "but that's not why I'm here."

The girls shrugged. "What do you want?" Erica asked, even unspoken, the others knew she was the leader.

"I come to ask a favor on behalf of Castiel. For some reason he wants those mud monkeys, the Winchesters, spared. So I ask you ladies, to please make sure they live. Mostly. You can beat the hell out of them first."

Erica looked at the girls, they conversed silently. They had been hoping to end the story with a peg legged Sam, and a one-eyed-patch-wearing Dean, and then of course a car crash, Season One ender style. They turned back to face the angel. "What's in it for us?"

Rebbecca tapped Erica's shoulder, "Tone it down-that's an angel of the Lord!"

Erica hissed back, "Please. Eric Kripkie is my only God, and the only warriors he employs are writers."

"That makes us angels," Lizzy clarified.

Uriel waited to the chatter stopped. "I will allow you to see and-" He paused, taking a deep breath."-touch my wings."

The girls gasped. "Wait, wait, can we touch Castiel's wings?"

"Mine are exactly the same."

"But you're a meanie." Rebecca added, shyly.

"What!" Uriel roared; with one snap the room suddenly contained five ravenous, carnivorous penguins.

Without batting an eyelash, Erica snapped, "Seriously, you need to control your anger."

Behind her Lizzy and Rebecca were trying to pet the vicious animals. One penguin, snapped it's jaws as Lizzy declared its name would be Kerfuffle.

"Whatever," Uriel retorted, "it's not like I drink demon blood like that freak Sam Winchester."

Lizzy froze. "OH MY GOD. You spoiled it!"

Rebbecca wagged a finger at the tall man, "Yeah man, not cool, you didn't even give us a spoiler alert!"

"Unbelievable," Erica frowned, "deal's off. The boy's are dead, and Castiel is getting his wings clipped. Spoiling is a very serious offense."

The girls turned to leave for the kitchen to refill their mugs of hot coco. "Wait!" Uriel called. "You can touch Castiel's wings!"

"Not listening!" Erica called. Rebecca and Lizzy looked at her pleadingly. "Trust me," she mouthed.

Rebecca sighed. "We should ask if we could meet with Edward Cullen, too."

Erica and Lizzy glared at her, waiting for an explanation of their friend's randomness.

"Well," Rebecca explained, "Bella wrote TAP to impress Edward… unfortunately it worked… but I was thinking he'd be impressed with our story, since it's all about TAP…"

"Wrong fandom, Becca. And besides, I'd rather date Cedric Diggory," Lizzy huffed.

"Or Dean Winchester." Eric nodded emphatically.

"That's true," Rebecca agreed, trying to think of a better fictions character to date and/or cuddle. She failed miserably, "Well, I guess we should figure out what comes next."

Uriel swore, he could hear them getting worked up, and knew that the situation was spiraling out of control. Without thinking, he blurted, "And you can write a drunk!Castiel story!"

"Bingo!" The girls cheered silently, all other conditions set aside.

They walked back into the living room. Lizzy picked up Madison and stroked her fur. Rebecca glared at the angel. "We accept your terms," Erica announced.

"Can't wait for your next update," Uriel said sarcastically.

**To Be Continued....**

**Everyone who's written in so far to help Sam, would you like to touch Castiel's wings? **

**Here's how you can help sam:  
PM Me **a name you want to go by ( elise, amber, whatever) and something you would say to him to cheer him up. include one detail about yourself: descriptiveve of your appearance (blonde) or personality (bubbly).

**But only of course if you want to play a cruical role in the end. **


	10. John's Patented Dating Advice

In case of emergency, should you find yourself out of breath (in case the "drama" is to much) there are EMTs standing by ( but they look suspicously like Sam and Dean) and they are fully capable in the art of CPR.

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO:**everyone out there that insists on writing _Mary Sue._ And a special thanks to **cornev** for suggesting this genre.

And since last chapter's _wee!chester_was so angsty, you can expect more randomly disperesed memories.

**SPOILER ALERT: **This does give away one of the more EPIC spoilers of season 4, the one with Sam and the thing and the place and the girl. If you know what I mean. Also, a Season One Spoiler here: Ohmigod they're hunters. Specifically episode _Piolt _and_ Sex and Violence._

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them.

**Disclaimer2: **Thanks to PlatinumRoseLady for lending me Roscoe!

**Chapter Ten: Jeffery Dean Morgan Begs For His Old Job Back (and quickly regrets it)**

"How do I look?" Rebecca smiled; she flipped a lock of her soft chocolate curls over her shoulder. She looked down at herself, nervously assessing the short skirt and tight band tee shirt.

"Perfect." Erica said, mouth agape, suddenly itching with jealousy.

"I'm a genius!" Lizzy clapped her hands together. It had taken hours of testing make up, homemade hair color kits, and lots of outfit tries. On the desk, in a small teacup was Roscoe, the plot bunny. Lizzy scratched his ears, "And it's thanks to you that we have a plan."

Roscoe made a happy bunny noise, twitched his nose, and held up a small sign that read- Damn gurl you look hawt!!!

Rebecca giggled, "Your're to kind."

Roscoe hastily scribbled on the sign- Just remember to act casual, no one wants someone _too _perfect.

Erica tossed a chocolate cupcake to the bunny. "Don't worry Roscoe, we got this."

The bunny caught it with one paw and munched on it happily

Rebecca wore red lipstick, and light bronze eye shadow. As she moved her head her dangly earrings chimed. She no longer looked like any other high school student, she was pristine picture of perfection, amazing in every sense of the word.

Okay!- Roscoe's new sign read- Let's make sure you got everything!

"Roscoe's right, make sure everything is in order!"

Rebecca said breezily, "Sure, not a problem. I have my back story memorized…"

"Hunter Skills and Gun?"

"Yes," Rebecca acknowledged cheerily, "and perfect aim."

"Charm and wit?"

Rebecca gave a coy smile, "Of course."

Her laughter was like music. Lizzy and Erica eyed each other, wondering if perhaps they had gone too far. Rebecca clicked her black high heels together, "Alright girls, I think it's time for me to go."

Roscoe held up a sign that said- But do you have the ability to be tactful? None of the girls noticed. Roscoe rolled his eyes, wishing for just once; people would listen to him before going off on random tangents based on half of what he suggested. Oy Vey, his sign read as he hopped away with one last cupcake.

s-s-s-s-s-s-s

Sam and Dean walked into the graveyard with little conversation between them. Finally the silence broke as Dean swore. "Missing something," Sam asked casually, hoping Dean didn't notice how nervous he was.

Dean looked glumly at his nervous brother. He hated to leave when Sam looked as torn and jumbled as he did. "Yeah," he conceded, "damn lighter fluid. I'll be right back."

Sam sniffed as the voice at the back of his head told him that everyone he loved would leave him. It was a good poem start. "'Kay," he murmured, "Hurry back."

Dean gave an assuring smile, dropped his stuff at the grave and left. As Sam set down his objects, he failed to see the large fat man enter from the left. The man waddled up to Sam, his grayish skin was peeling, his open sores oozing, and he growled a little.

"Boy listen to my tummy rumble," Sam looked at himself. "I wish Dean had brought me waffles earlier."

He frowned at the memory of Dean's death. Sam wasn't sure he could last the remaining two hours, fifty-five minuets, and thirty six seconds. He sighed and started digging. Two rough hands grabbed his shoulders and spun him around, then hit him squarely in the jaw. The blows were aimed to make Sam drop in the neighboring empty grave.

Shock, and general amounts of overwhelming angst clouded his senses momentarily.

But this was Sam Winchester, after all. Needless to say he fought back valiantly. It wasn't enough and just when Sam though he was going to be buried alive by a fat zombie, she appeared.

She ran onto the scene, her hair waving like a battle flag, shimmering in the moonlight that had appeared just for this occasion. Gun already aimed, she fired. The zombie stopped mid-attack and turned to her, perplexed by the bullet in his brain. Withdrawing a stake she quickly nailed him to the coffin in the grave meant for Sam. She jumped out of the grave and shook off any remaining dirt. "That was a really convenient empty grave," she smiled.

I know. I'm the narrator, it's what I do.

"Shh!" she hissed, "You'll blow our cover!"

Sorry. My bad, here I'll make it up to you.

Sam laughed at her joke.

Rebecca glared, but Sam didn't notice. He was trying to remember how to breathe. This gorgeous femme fatale was robbing him of reason. She wasn't his usual type; the mousy brown, thick black horn rimmed glasses, a stack of books nerdy type, but she was quickly becoming the exception.

"That was amazing," he said walking towards her, "you're amazing."

She smiled, and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. He imitated the gesture. Like two shy love birds they walked close together back to Ackalacki's grave almost (but never) touching.

Dean was returning now from the Impala. What should have been a five minuet trip had been a painful 20 minutes involving angry pigeons, mud, a rubber ducky, and some karaoke. He shuddered, vowing never to explain the kerfuffle. "Don't bother explaining weird shit," his father had once said, "That's an order. Nobody will understand you and girls don't dig those 'chick flick moments.'" At age eight, Dean had begun to realize the importance of girls, and took his father's word for facts.

Now walking through the grave yard the older Winchester was reminded more and more of his childhood. At age seven, he remembered vividly digging up his first grave with three year old Sam. Dad had done most of the work really, seeing as Sammy only had a small spade in hand. Dean made it a game- they were searching for the treasure of Camp Green Lake or at least Sam's toy boat the _Mary Lou. _After digging only a foot they found out they had been at the wrong grave.

Dean laughed at his memories. He stopped smiling however when he realized his brother wasn't far ahead, and he was with someone. The older Winchester forgot to breathe momentarily as he glimpsed at the tall gorgeous piece of perfection. She was cooing at Sam, Dean overheard the words "you're hurt" and "poor baby."

Illusions of love disappeared as he realized she was a) interfering with their hunt and b) stealing his Sam. He approached the grave to see the two sitting on the edge, feet dangling in the perfect 6 feet deep coffin sized hole. Sam jumped up. Dean immediately noticed Sam had a black eye and a split lip. But otherwise he looked happy, happier than he had in the past two days anyway. "What happened?" he asked as nonchalantly as possible.

("When you talk to girls, be distant and aloof, Dean. Nonchalant even," Jon Winchester had told him at age nine, "Girls like guys that are 'emotionally detached.' That's an order Dean.")

"Dean, meet Mercedes," Sam blushed as he spoke her name.

"Hi Dean," Rebecca shook his hand. "I used to be a stripper but one of my co-workers was a Greek mythical creature, so I became a hunter. I'm kinda new to this."

"But you're doing really well," Sam said encouragingly. "You should've seen it Dean, she dropped this zombie like Aaron Burr dropped Hamilton!"

To the left, one of the bushes shook. Erica laughed at the scene, and Lizzy looked foul tempered. "I wish I'd know that for yesterday's history quiz!"

They fell silent as Dean looked their way. Dean took a quick glance, then dispelled his paranoid suspicions and turned back to Sam. He hadn't thought about fangirls in a while, and he certainly hadn't give up on it either. "So, Mercedes, thanks for helping, but are you going to stay later?"

Rebecca batted her eyelashes. As much as her inner Sam!Girl hated it, she edged herself closer to Dean. "I'd love to have a drink later, if that's what you're asking. But first, let's burn these bones."

Sam furrowed his eyebrow, wondering what had just happened. He'd been flirting with Mercedes first! Had Dean no standards? He gasped as he realized Dean had, in fact, no standards and Sam would quickly lose his dream girl.

Dean weighed the pros and cons of taking the girl. The fact of the matter was that she had been a stripper. And that was feaking hot. Dean wanted her more than anything. Still he could see Sammy was looking highly depressed, his normal puppy dog features in overdrive. Dean decided the outcome would be dependent upon _her _choice.

"Dean? What's the matter," Rebecca asked innocently, "You look pensive."

He looked into her soft blue eyes. "No, no, just thinking is all."

Sam chortled; Dean's face remained blank, clearly missing the joke. Sam realized this girl had brains, too, making him fall in love with her a little more. She picked up the lighter fluid with grace, and daintily splashed the corpse of Jensen Ackalacki.

Dean lit a match and threw it into the pit. As the flames devoured the coffin's contents he asked, "By the way, how did you manage to dig a perfect six foot hole in the 20 minuets I was gone?"

Rebecca leaned into Dean. "Magicians never reveal their secrets," she said sexily.

Dean looked at Sam for an explanation. He only shrugged. Dean looked around, checking that things were on their way back to Winchester normal. "Let's go celebrate the end of this case."

Rebecca's musical laughter filled the grave yard. In the bushes Lizzy was connecting her face and palm repeatedly. "We've done it. Created an unstoppable monster," Erica shuddered.

"I just wanted to create the perfect fanfiction!" Lizzy sobbed.

Rebecca let the boys carry her stuff as they walked back to the impala. Two bushes followed in stealthy pursuit.

At the local bar they listened to an array of foot tapping music. Rebecca sighed as a slow song came on. "Usually I prefer some classic rock, or decent country," she commented.

Sam physically, while Dean metaphorically, swooned. He awoke to her leaning over him, and felt as if he was in heaven. Rebecca gave the cutest little frown, "Oh Sammy."

She helped him to his feet. Rebecca positioned herself in between the two Winchesters. To Dean's dismay she was leaning in closer to Sam, a whisper away from his lips. "Sam?"

"Yes?"…my true, and only perfect love, he left unspoken, but understood.

"Can you go get some beer so we can play Beer Pong?" Rebecca patted his shoulder.

Sam surveyed the two completely full pitchers on their table and got up. "Sure," he said sadly.

As he left, Rebecca turned to Dean. "You know, I'm seriously professional at Beer Pong."

"But that's not why you made Sam leave," Dean said suggestively.

"No, it's not." She smiled and wrapped her arms around Dean's neck. Their lips met, fireworks exploded, flowers bloomed, and all the usual metaphors applied.

From the corner both Lizzy and Erica gasped. Lizzy snapped her finger three times in a zig-zag pattern, "oh snap!" They watched in horror as Sam returned and promptly doused Dean in beer. He apologized profusely to Mercedes for splashing some on her luxurious hair. "Sam," she huffed, "we're just friends."

Sam stammered to say something to win her back but was cut short by a tackle by Dean. "Boys," she said disgustedly and stormed out. Outside the bar she saw Erica and Lizzy.

She smiled, praying she'd done them proud. "Hi girls!"

"Way to go for the kill shot!" Erica high-fived her.

"But why?" Lizzy was trying to make sense of the conflicting facts, "the ghost is gone, his angst will pan out, you didn't need to…"

"Actually, he's not. Ackalacki is still here."

"What!" Erica and Lizzy's synchronized shrieks echoed in the parking lot.

"I know, right? There's more to this story. And I helped it along."

"Who told you?" Lizzy looked around for any suspicious characters, aspiring writers, or story thieves.

I did.

"Who was that?!" Eric jumped.

"The narrator," Rebecca smiled.

"But I thought we were writing the story!" Lizzy hissed.

You are. But who do you think wrote you?

As the girls pondered life, the universe, and everything, 42 men inside the bar were engaged in a massive brawl. The bartender spotted the eye of the storm. Behind Tyler Durden, under a two stacked tables (literally thrown together), with glass everywhere was two wrestling Winchesters.

Tyler Durden untangled himself from the fight to get out of the bartender's way, feeling more alive than he had in years. It inspired him to create a club for fighting. The first rule of Flight Club, he decided was, don't write T.A.P. The second: Don't write T.A.P. The third rule of Fight Club: We have Fight Club instead of T.A.P.. He looked down around bar, and sighed. It was a start.

Meanwhile the bartender had grabbed the Winchesters- he was a very large bartender- and lifted them to their feet. The ex-marine corps man pushed them out the door yelling, "You go out that door, don't you ever come back!"

It was a very quiet ride back to the motel for the blood spattered Winchesters. They were both ashamed a girl so perfect had gotten in the way of their bond. Dean was even more ashamed he hadn't been able to dodge Sam's right hook. His jaw was still sore as they parked. It was only after they'd set down their weaponry, taken off their dirty clothes that Dean noticed. Obviously, his brother was crest fallen. But there was more to it, he looked broken, a shattered version of a better time.

"Dean?" Sam asked in a heart breaking whisper. "Why do I still feel so much angst?"

It didn't make sense because they had burned Ackalacki. Dean was at a loss for words. Then Ackalacki appeared. He was lying on his side on top of the TV, propped up on one elbow. And all of Dean's words came rushing back "You bastard! We killed you!"

His ghostly grin gave away grim plans, "Sam's fate is in my hands."

Sam shuddered as the sinister ghost began to disappear. "Starting to feeling like he one finned shark of loneliness, eh Sam?"

Jensen laughed and began to fade away. His leering grin was the last to go.

Meanwhile, Castiel was murmuring frantic apologies to his wings for what he was about to do.

**To Be Continued....**

**And yes, next up is the interlude where Uriel keeps his end of the deal. Much to Cas's displeasure. So if you had any vicous plans for playing with Cas's wings, speak now of forever hold your piece. **

**Here's how you can help Sam:  
PM Me **a name you want to go by ( elise, amber, whatever) and something you would say to him to cheer him up. include one detail about yourself: descriptiveve of your appearance (blonde) or personality (bubbly).

**But only of course if you want to play a cruical role in the end. **


	11. Bubble Bath

***facepalm* I am _such _an idiot for not writing this originally. Thanks guys for kicking me. **

**Thank you PlatinumRoseLady for beta-ing. As you can tell, changes have been made. **

**Interlude**

_Thursday night. Warehouse 5. Down by the docks. Come alone. _

Castiel read the note again. Ever since God had ordered Castiel to Earth to steal Dean and Sam's fan girls he had been rethinking his choice of vessel. He wondered if perhaps he outdone himself. He looked himself over- no it was good choice. It could have been worse. He could have been trapped as Chad Michael Murray, after all.

He took timid steps into the decrepit warehouse, trying as best as he could to prepare himself. But there was no way he truly could have understood the gravity of the situation until he crossed the threshold. While waiting for his appearance several fights had already broken out between Sam!Girls and Dean!Girls. ("Sam!Girls are smarter!" "Yeah well Dean!Girls are hotter!" and so on) Well, technically, Sam!Fans, because there was one guy buried in the sea of fans who was now sporting a split lip.

The ink stained, battle clad warriors stopped yelling at each other as he stood before him. He swallowed, "Uriel told you of the deal?"

Three moved forward, out of a crowd of hundreds, he recognized them from chapters ago.

Erica smiled. "Yes. You can relax, Castiel. We don't want to hurt you."

At her side Lizzy gigged. Others joined in. Rebecca crossed her arms over her chest, "And you remember your side of the deal?"

Castiel looked to his left. Then to his right. He didn't want to hit anyone when he relaxed his wings. As easy as you and I might wiggle our fingers he let his wings out.

A collective gasp went through out the crowd of writers as he let the glamour fade away. He unfolded his wings. Each wingwas ten feet long and a dazzling white so spotless, it made perfect pearls look tainted. Castiel flapped them tentatively to show how they shimmered in the light. Gold flecks seemed to be embedded in the down.

Shrieks, broke out immediately among the dispersed swooning. One fan looked at another, and lamented, "To bad Dean's not wearing the wings…."

"We could ring a bell," her friend replied.

"Enough! Swear now, writers of fiction, swear to me that you will not kill the Winchesters!" He said in a deep booming voice.

The excited chatters that had broken out became mumbles as Erica called back. She held out her arms. "We of the online communities swear to you, Angel of Thursday, Castiel, to not kill the Winchesters!"

She looked at Lizzy, "Was that okay?"

Lizzy shrugged. "A little forced."

Rebecca handed her a pen. "We can rewrite that later."

Castiel smiled, and many of them swooned. "Then I shall let you touch my wings."

In retrospect, setting some ground rules first would have been wise. As it was, Castiel was immediately tackled from all sides. He fell to the ground and was unable to regain a standing position, or even a safe hovering one. Distantly, he could feel someone rolling on his right wing.

"Um, um, Guys?" He said timidly. He could feel both his wings being tugged on. "GUYS!!"

"Eek!" One miniscule fan shrieked as the room fell silent.

"Could you please show a little more respect?" He asked, trying to sit up. A brunette with aquamarine eyes helped him to his feet. "Thanks. But, uh, seriously, you're not even supposed to see them, let alone touch them…"

Some had the decency to blush. One redhead glanced around herself before shoving two stolen feathers into her pockets. Her friend glared at her. "They're like super soft, like Charmin Ultra, seriously," she explained.

Shakily Castiel stood, even took flight above them. "Okay, did you guys touch enough?"

"No," a tall blonde whined from the left, "I promised I'd tap dance on broken glass to for this chance. Just a little more, please?"

Many others chimed in, "Please?" "Pretty Please?" "With a Cherry on top?"

Castiel made sure they formed a line this time. As the crowd shuffled by they all asked him odd questions. "Does Dean have any other tattoos?" "Did you give Sam a waffle?" "Can I see your moustache?" "Can I kiss you?"

He answered as politely as he could, and as time dragged by there was finally only three left. Erica smiled as the ruffled Angel, "Thanks, Cas-"

"Castiel," he growled, really no longer in good mood.

"Catstiel," she smiled apologetically, "we'll keep our promise."

She patted his shoulder. Lizzy walked next to her, clicking a pen, "Sam'll make it, no worries. But have you considered using adorable animals to cheer him up?"

Castiel tilted his head. "No, I hadn't. I'll give that a try, however. Thank you."

Lizzy ran a hand over his wing once more, and gave a deep sigh. "Thanks again for letting us…you know… they really are gorgeous…"

Castiel blushed, "Yeah, the entire garrison agrees, I have the sexiest wings. Unlike Uriel's- his wings turn purple when gets mad."

Lizzy laughed, and waved goodbye to her friends. "See you tomorrow!"

Castiel looked around, surprised to see only Rebecca standing before him. She was the last to leave.

"Here, as a peace offering. You might enjoy it," she said shyly.

She giggled and handed him a bottle of whiskey. He looked at it, perplexed. Alcohol? Well, Castiel was already breaking a few rules today, so why not? "Thanks, Rebecca."

"No, Thank you!" She flipped one lock of brown hair over her shoulder and walked out. She was a little over excited to see the second half of Uriel's deal come true.

Castiel took a long sip.

It wasn't appetizing, and he still didn't understand it. His entire throat ached and he coughed and sputtered. But something compelled him to keep drinking.

In the distance, a handful of fans watched, took notes, and waited to see what a drunk Castiel would do.

**So Many Wasted Hours Later:**

Castiel half stumbled, half tiptoed into the barracks. He got into his bunk and sighed. Uriel, who was on the top bunk, leaned over the edge to look at him. "So? What took so long?"

Castiel gave him a groggy glare. "They're rabid, Urry, you have _no _idea."

Uriel sniggered. "Is that why your left wing says_- K+E were here_? In pink sharpie?"

Castiel sat up so fast he hit his head on the top bunk. "Crap!"

"C'mon," Uriel jumped off the top bunk and held out his hand. Castiel accepted the help and walked with him to the garrison's showers. Uriel sighed, "I'll get the bubble bath."

**To Be Continued**

**Important Note: Angel wings are so soft, bubble bath is the only thing gentle enough to clean them. Just so we're clear. **

**Please include in your review a detailed description of what you just did Castiel's wings. And any thing you think is a good anwser to WWDCD? (What would drunk Castiel do?)**

**My friend (Lizzy in this story) was like: WWD!CD?**

**And I was like: Something highly illegal?**

**She replied: ...I was gonna say Dean...**


	12. Flirtin With Disaster

In case of emergency, should you find yourself out of breath (in case the "_drama_" is to much) there are EMTs standing by ( but they look suspiciously like Sam and Dean) and they are fully capable in the art of CPR.

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO: **everyone out there that insists on writing Song Fics!

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them. Also, I don't own anything Robert Service wrote. Or Douglas Adams. Or anything else I make reference to.

**BONUS POINTS**: If you can name 5 of the songs quoted, you win a lot of points. Prize to be determined later. And the first song doesn't count because the tittle is given. just try to count them… there is 26 song references total. Some are tittles, and are obvious, some are song lyrics, wich means it's double points if you catch those.

**I EXPECT EVERYONE WHO SO MUCH AS GLANCES AT THIS CHAPTER TO SING ALONG. badly, if possible. into a shower head, if you can. **

**Chapter Eleven: The One Where Eric Kripke Sings Along**

_I can't escape this hell  
So many times I've tried  
But I'm still caged inside  
Somebody get me through this nightmare  
I can't control myself_

_So what if you can see the darkest side of me  
No one will ever change this_

"Animal I have become," Sam muttered, looking proudly down at his poetry. The smile quickly disappeared at a new, darker realization. "Oh, wait. Shit. That's copy righted."

Sam tore up the offending evidence and wailed, "I'm not even an original poet!"

Dean took the pen out of his hands. "Bad Sam! Stop that and sit still while I call Bobby!"

Sam whimpered. Dean double checked there were no sharp objects, pens, or note book paper around Sam. "Everything will be wonderful now," Dean lied.

Sam sighed and pulled the castle door closed, completing his pillow fortress. He glared at Dean from across the motel room. Dean found it hard to concentrate on the phone call when a mound of circus paraphernalia was staring at him. He dialed Bobby's number, the first thing he'd ever memorized and prayed the seasoned hunter was home.

Bobby set down his spatula, and answered the phone with a spunky hello. His breakfast was almost done cooking, but he had all the time in the world for helping the Winchesters.

Dean quickly explained the situation. Bobby gasped, "What were you thinking taking a case with TAP? Don't you know TAP is why Tom Riddle lost his soul?!"

"That's powerful stuff," Dean gave a low whistle.

Bobby scratched his hatless head, "Let me put my thinking cap on, and I'll call you right back."

He hung up and looked down at his breakfast. He had no appetite now. "Treat them like your own sons, Bobby. That's an order," John Winchester once told him, "Women dig single dads." Bobby had taken the duty to heart, and didn't want to fail now.

Bobby scratched his beard. Poetry was a strange magik, and teen angst stranger still. He called Dean back as an idea struck him.

At the motel, there was mass panic. Castiel had appeared in good spirits, hoping a tiger would cheer Sam up. Years of watching humanity had taught him little, but he had been almost positive that cuddly creatures cheered up mortals. Now, Sam's masterpiece (which included even the sofa cushions) was in shambles and any shirt Dean wore would have chunks missing. Castiel was petting the now kitten sized pacified tiger, still trying to apologize. "C'mon Sam, Amy's really nice. Are you telling me a cute cat doesn't cheer you up?"

Sam sat on his trashed bed with his knees pulled up tightly to his chest. He rocked back and forth as some of the destroyed fragments floated. "You destroyed my dream castle, there is no discussion here. If u seek Amy," he pointed at the purring tiger, then drew an imaginary line across his throat with his finger.

He blew a puff of air to dispel some of the sofa stuffing into his face. Other bits of pillow feathers began to land in his hair.

Dean was still trying to find a shirt he could wear in public. His favorite Black Sabbath tee-shirt would display his pectorals too much for comfort and class. When his phone rang, it was a welcome relief. "Oops, I did it again," he sighed accidentally putting Bobby on hold. He quickly fixed it, "All that matters is taking matters into your own hands."

"What the hell are you singing boy?" Bobby growled as a greeting.

"Nothing too horrible," Dean said blushing, "What did you find out? Did you search an archaic book in a language only a few people know? The day needs you're saving expertise!"

"Phft. No. I just realized we should do what we always do in these situations," Bobby said while shaking the pan slightly. His fishy breakfast was reheating slowly.

"Call me when you're sober, Bobby," Dean rolled his eyes.

"No! Dean! We just have to burn the shit you idjit!" Even as Bobby spoke he deeply regretted saying idjit. That word was _so_ overused. "Dean?"

"I'm still here…" Dean was considering it, "but we burned the corpse."

"Yes," Bobby said through gritted teeth, "bud did you burn his _poetry?_"

"In retrospect, that seems sofa king obvious."

"No problem," Bobby smiled, "now get to work."

"Talk to you later," Dean was already putting on a jacket.

"So long and thanks for all the fish," Bobby hung up quickly and turned to see what was still salvageable from breakfast. Dean looked at the phone in his hand and raised an eyebrow. He hadn't expected Bobby to remember the fish filet he had given him last Christmas.

When Dean looked over at the room's occupants, and sighed. Castiel was holding out the miniature Amy for Sam to hold, begging. "Just one little hug…" And Sam, now that most of the floating shreds had landed in his hair, was refusing.

"Uh, guys…GUYS!" They looked at him; Amy jumped out of Castiel's arms and began to shed orange hairs all over Dean's stuff. "Do you want to come with me and finish this case or not?"

"I'm so far gone, that deep down I think its fine by me, I'm my own worst enemy," Sam said morosely.

"I'm the King of Cat-astrophe," Castiel smiled softly.

Dean looked at them. "Is that a yes?"

Sam tossed him the keys. "Shut up and drive."

The trio walked out, Dean trailing behind. As he locked the motel door he vaguely recalled that there was a rare tiger inside, and hung a Do Not Disturb sign on the door. He was wondering if everything would make sense in the end. Once they were on the highway Dean tried to talk, but could think of nothing. He turned on the radio, but only classical was on. He grumbled, "It makes me wanna scream - Bach, Tchaikovsky, violins- Turn it off!"

"I suppose rock's out of the question?" Sam asked sadly. The radio remained off as Dean poured his frustration out onto the road. An awkward silence settled in the car.

"By the way," Castiel asked politely, "does anyone know where we're going?"

Sam sobbed, knowing that they did not. "There's no hope!"

"So you had a bad day," Dean tried to comfort Sam.

"It's okay," Castiel smiled, interrupting another one of Dean's disastrous cheering up attempts. He gave a jazzy snap, fedora included, and they were at the Ackalacki house.

"How do you know his stuff is still intact?" Sam questioned pessimistically.

"He lived with his grandma."

"Ohhh," the Winchesters said knowingly.

Dean parked the impala. As they got out he warned, "Remember, her grandson died a year ago. She's probably still torn up about."

They walked up to the door, and knocked. When the little old lady answered, they told her they were newspaper staff at the local high school. "We really would like to publish some of his poetry," Castiel smiled, "I'm the literature professor and I can recognize talent."

"No you really can't," the old lady laughed, "Jensen wrote shit."

Sam started to break down. Dean hissed at him, "Smile like you mean it!"

"Thanks Mr. Look at the Brightside!" he hissed back sarcastically.

Mrs. Ackalacki looked them over. She decided they had potential, and invited them in anyway. "You boys can take a seat in the living room."

She led them in, chuckling to herself. It had been a long time since she'd had company. Especially of such handsome, nubile young men. The possibilities were endless. Of course, she wasn't as fast as she used to be, but she could still have her wild way.

The ghost busting trio shared a look, mildly suspicious of the old lady. "Sit down, sit down," she gestured to the hideous lavender couch that had been the final resting place of many of her guests. "I'll get us some tea."

She hoped she still had enough 'special' tea left over. "So," she called from the kitchen, "instead of talking about Jensen, why don't you tell me about poetry…"

"'There are strange things done underneath the midnight sun'?" Dean called, instantly regretting it. He was already worried about the strange things about to be done. Dean and Sam glanced at each other. Castiel leaned forward, "Sam, just keep her busy, okay? No parlor tricks."

Dean clarified, "What Cas means is, Do. Not. Stip. Tease."

Sam was about to retort, but they walked away quickly. He was nervous because this old lady was giving off some seriously weird vibes. She came back in with a tray full of foul smelling tea, and a hexagon shaped pile of sugar cubes. "I kissed a girl," she said conversationally, "once."

Sam really didn't want to hear more. She leaned in close to him. "I liked it. More tea?"

"Uh, yeah sure." Sam looked down at the odd shaped leaves in the tea.

Ms. Ackalacki shrugged, "Sometimes it's hot and it's cold. " She handed him the sugar and smiled seductively, "Pour some sugar on me."

As Dean and Castiel tip-toed up the stairs they giggled despite the grim situation. Below they could hear the crazy lady chuckle and Sam's laughter that barely concealed sobs of despair.

In Jensen's room was indicators of the previous life he lead; an Efron poster, some rock CDs (there was some good music mixed in with the My Chemical Collection), and an impressive library (yes, Edgar Allen Poe). On his light blue bed sheets there was even a GI Joe action figures. Under the pillowcase was the damning evidence Castiel and Dean needed.

It was an assortment of TAP so angst ridden, there was literally a portal to hell beneath. The only reason Lilith hadn't come through here was because she would have had to touch the TAP. Even the demons had evil standards. "Teenagers scare the shit out of me," Dean shook.

"'You're my own personal brand of heroin,'" Castiel read. "Seriously what does that imply?"

"Stalking tendencies? Potential drug abuse?" Dean suggested. "What about this-"

They stopped when they heard an eerie silence downstairs. "Let's burn this and go," Dean said lighter in hand.

The ghost of Jensen appeared then, "What are you doing! That one was my favorite!"

Dean dropped another burning piece of poetry into the flaming wastebasket. "Guesses what? Sam is my favorite!"

Jensen shrieked to see himself slowly bleeding ink, and crumble like the burning poetry. Castiel added, "By the way, totally boss Effron poster."

Jensen looked up, "Really?"

As the last piece disappeared, so did Jensen.

They ran down stairs to save Sam from the Mrs. Ackalacki and her spiked tea. She was sitting in her rocking chair when they arrived. "Where is the professor?" Dean tried to act casual.

"He said he had to go to the bathroom, are you staying?" She held out the tray, "Your tea is getting cold."

"No thanks," Castiel said as Dean took off behind him, "we have to be going. Papers to grade. Creativity to suppress."

He ran down the hallway and out the door. Dean was on his knees shaking the shivering Sam. Sam had collapsed on the porch mid escape attempt. On his skin ink calligraphy was appearing, rearranging itself, and disappearing, forming long elegant sentences, and fragments of TAP.

"I'm not okay… I promise," Sam coughed.

"I can't believe I let them touch my wings for this," Castiel crossed his arms across his chest.

"Sam…hold on! Jensen's gone! You can make it!"

"…can't believe they healed your head wound …and not me…." Sam chattered his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Who's they? Stay awake!" Dean was panicking Sam up no carrying him to the car. They had to go back to the motel. Then Dean remembered.

_The fangirls._

He drove quickly down the boulevard of broken dreams, and arrived at the hotel in record time. Castiel, still furious for something Dean couldn't understand, helped him carry Sam in.

"Castiel? Can you stay here and watch Sam while I go?"

"Are you seriously leaving?" Castiel gasped, "I can't stand still."

"I'm the only who can do this! I have to go- I so hate consequences!" Dean turned to Sam, who was going in and out of reality, and ordered again, "Maintain consciousness!"

"On this bed I lay, losing everything," Sam murmured, "I can see my life passing me by…"

Dean stared at his brother, and as much as it killed him inside, he left.

In the motel, Castiel kept watch. Amy jumped up on the bed where Sam had been placed, now that she was finished chewing through all of Dean's magazine collection, she curled up next to Sam. Castiel looked at Amy and Sam, and wondered aloud, "What do tigers dream of, when they take a little tiger snooze? Do they dream of mauling zebras…?"

Outside Dean hit the gas. He just had to find them in time…

**To Be Continued....**

**Shine your shoes. Put on your dress clothes, and clean behind your ears. Because it's time for your star appearance.**

**In anwser to your questions:****Dean's Magazines= Busty Asian Beauties. Miss Ackalacki's tea= marijuana. And to the other questions:** Oh yes. Yes. God, yes. I did just go there. And it was awesome. 


	13. Your Turn

In case of emergency, should you find yourself out of breath (in case the "_drama_" is to much) there are EMTs standing by ( but they look suspiciously like Sam and Dean) and they are fully capable in the art of CPR.

**TODAY'S UPDATE IS DEDICATED TOO: **everyone out there that insists on WRITING!! THIS IS FOR YOU WHO WRITES FANFICTION!!! I love you guys. Because without this website, I literally would have had to keep my creativity to myself and imploded. Very dramatically.

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them.

**THIS CHAPTER GUEST STARS SOME OF THE TALENTED WRITERS ON THIS WEBSITE WHO WROTE IN: PlatinumRoseLady, 1983Sarah, Michia, loverOf Sam'sPecks09, deansbabygirl934, KateCyrus, Clarabell27, ****enviousxbeauty****, ****FateTwistingDeanGurl**

**Chapter Twelve: **Ben Edlund and the Golden Pen

The impala roared to life, its sleek black body blurring into the scenery. Dean urged the machine onward acutely aware of the damage he was inflicting into his prized automobile. It didn't matter- Dean was desperate.

Not the usual, drink a beer, soliloquy, and crossroads deal desperate, mind you.

He wasn't going to see Hell's sales girl. He was going to see the Devil.

Or rather, the devils who had created this hell.

Lizzy, Erica, and Rebecca looked up from their scrabble game at the sound of the approaching car. Rebecca jumped up to peer through the curtains. "Look," Erica was hissing vehemently, "I spelled Dean Winchester! That's a lifetime win."

Lizzy pointed at the pieces on her living room floor. "But I spelled Kripke!"

Rebecca's shriek stopped the argument. They ran over to her. In Lizzy's driveway a '67 impala was parking. "Lizzy," Erica said, "Did your dad get a new car?"

"No," Lizzy gasped, "but that would mean…"

"I swear I didn't invite him over or a second date!" Rebecca promised, in hysterics. "He doesn't even know my real name…Do you think he'll recognize me?"

No answer was given as Dean ran from his car to their door in seconds. He knocked once before throwing the door wide open. Lizzy looked at Erica, "Dean Winchester's standing in my living room, right?"

Rebecca pumped her fist. Erica stood frozen, and nodded in response to Lizzy's question.

Dean looked at them, started to speak, but then noticed Rebecca. He raised one eyebrow, "Mercedes?"

She shrieked and through her arms around Dean. "You came back for me!"

"Whoa. WHOA! Personal Space," Dean yelled effortlessly untangling himself. "I knew you were too good to be true."

She pouted and resumed standing next to Lizzy. All his life Dean had learned, and perfected the art of intimidation. He stepped closer to the girls. They huddled together. "Now," he growled, "I'm here because of Sam."

He pointed at them. "I want you girls to help Sam. You're the reason he's dying."

Rebecca hung her head sadly; she murmured a faint, "sorry."

Erica finally came out of her revive, "Do you think he'll sign my copy of Season Three?"

"Maybe," Lizzy shrugged, "Does he know he's fictitious?"

"I won't ask again," Dean said between clenched teeth. "Help Sam."

The older Winchester internally panicked as he realized thing were spiraling out of control. He couldn't understand why his gruff manner wasn't working. He glared at them, his emerald eyes surging with intensity as locked onto them.

"Ohmigawd," Rebecca put her hand over her heart, "It's like he's staring into my soul!"

"I know, right?" Erica sighed.

Dean quickly saw where things were going. "Make love, not war," his dad had once said, "Chicks dig it." He knew he would regret it later, but-

He put his hand on Erica's shoulder, touching her hair. "Please," he said softly, lowering his head, "I need to save him, Sammy's all I got. Dad never had to tell me, it was just always my responsibility. It was like I had one job. I had one job and I screwed it up. I blew it and now you gotta help me get him back…"

"Aww," the girls said in unison. Dean didn't have to pretend to choke back a sob.

Lizzy pulled out the pen that was tucked behind her ear and clicked it nervously. "I'm not sure what we can do…we haven't written the next chapter…"

Rebecca mumbled something. All eyes fixed on her. Erica gasped, "Really?"

"Yeah," Rebecca softly repeated, "Samazons."

"What?" Dean looked at them.

"Erica, Rebecca, and me, did you think we were the only fangirls out there?" Lizzy raised an eyebrow, "There are some seriously hardcore people out there. Those who devote themselves to Sam go by many names, but Samazons is generally accepted."

"So you think these…Samazons can help my brother?"

"Well the Dean Divas brought you back didn't they?" Erica said reassuringly.

Dean could barely understand this, "Who? When?"

"Never mind. Different chapter," Erica smiled waving a dismissive hand, "Anyway give us a minute…"

**"**Uh, girls… there's a problem," Rebecca blushed.

They looked at her. "My fellow Samazons won't answer my call, they're still angry about…"

She pointed at Dean. "Oh," Lizzy said, recalling the traitorous kiss, "but…you're the leader!"

Erica, always practical, tossed her a phone. "Call your second in command."

"I hope that will work," Rebecca dialed, "She thinks I'm a Diva now."

In seconds, the second in command and Rebecca's offical beta, Kim answered. "What do you want…Dean!Girl?" she said venomously.

"Kim, _Kimmy_," Rebecca pleaded. "I need your help to save Sam."

The flirty red head sat up, at alert. She pulled her strawberry blonde hair out of her face and secured it with a platinum rose clip. Friends described her as mildly eccentric, but her tendencies made her dedicated to Sam's cause. "What happened?"

Erica, Dean, and Lizzy listened as Rebecca gave a rundown of how a simple story had gotten wildly out of control. They strained to hear Kim's response. "We're doing this for Sam, Rebecca, just remember that," Kim said with finality.

Rebecca smiled and gave the thumbs up to the eaves-droppers. "Alright, meet us at the Voyager- yeah, the circus themed one- in ten minutes."

She hung up triumphant. Dean looked at them. "C'mon, I have to get back to Sam. Do you guys want to ride in my car?"

Dean instantly regretted the decision as the loud shrieks practically shattered his eardrums.

Back at the motel, Sam was tossing and turning on the bed. His lips were turning blue as a cold front dampened his soul and froze his emotions. Castiel was trying to keep him warm with a mound of blankets. Amy was even curled on Sam's chest.

Nothing worked.

It seemed as though the words were burning into his skin. The long curvaceous calligraphy now spread across his torso. The words shimmered opening old scars and creating havoc. Sam was murmuring half poetry, and even some last requests. He was only slightly aware of his surroundings.

Castiel prayed that their biggest worry would only be scars. When the door opened, Castiel looked up. He gasped and his wings unfurled as he took a defensive stance. Ruby walked through the motel threshold, "Oh no, Sam, my baby…"

The emotion was real and raw in her voice; she worried how terribly this would mess up her future plans. She briefly considered giving him more demon blood to correct the situation…

It was decided however that she was a more than likely a devious bitch, so no fangirl took care or caution when they stampeded into the room. Dean pushed his way through the armor clad crowd and stepped over Ruby's corpse to Sam. "Castiel, how is he?"

Castiel relaxed his stance and shook his head sadly. He eyed the rag tag army behind Dean warily. The Samazons wore breast plate armor that covered their torso and also blue jeans. The decorations varied from one to the next and some even had javelins. Despite being a united group each Samazon was unique from the other.

"Oh no," Dean looked at Sam. He gently settled himself next to Sam. Dean sat up on the bed, cross-legged with back against the headboard, and put his hand on Sam's shoulder. "Samazons, please."

The small motel room somehow expanded to accommodate the hoard. Kimberly and Rebecca were in front, they edged close to Sam. Rebecca touched his shoulders; her fingers tingled with despair where they meet with TAP. "I'm so sorry," she kissed his forehead gently, "we don't want you to leave us."

Kim smiled at Sam. "We- the proud Samazons- came here today because we don't want you…" she lowered her eyes and choked out the last word, "…die."

She sobbed and threw her arms around him. As her emotions flared, so did her Boston accent, "Oh poor darlin'! Let me hold you and make you feel ALL better!"

Rebecca tapped her. "Kim, you're causing a scene, let's let our warriors say something as well."

Kim wiped a tear from her eye and stepped back.

The army looked at among themselves, unsure of how to approach their idol. One sensitive soul stepped forward, her name was Trinity. She blushed a deep crimson. "Sam," she gushed, "you're the best hunter in the world! Those puppy eyes of yours could melt a snow cone and you have such a great personality!"

She smiled, brushed blonde hair from her face and melted back into the crowd. A short, fluffy brunette stepped out next. Her long legs carried her with confidence to Sam's bedside. She set a purple lollipop on his nightstand. "Lollipops are very cheery," she said knowingly.

She turned as Sandra tapped her shoulder. They fans were forming a line now. Sandra moved quickly her brown hair bouncing with each step, the light illuminating the red highlights. Her aquamarine eyes connected on Sam. "Oh Sam, angsty ghost jerks make you all sad and crazy. Forget about him, he's not worth it."

Many nodded agreeably as Heather moved forward next. She wasn't completely comfortable with so many people around. Under this kind of pressure she became excessively sarcastic making her social awkwardness much worse. Heather patted Sam's shoulder, "Cheer up. I mean… you're tall… and you can ball at the drop of a hat which means you're emotionally open, unlike Dean with his one tear at a time"

Sam's head lolled. Dean looked at her with watering eyes, "How do we know it's working?"

The girls shrugged, having never done this before. Luckily at that moment Sam seemed to come into some awareness of his surroundings. His eyes locked onto the approaching blonde, Clara. Her long locks spilled onto her armor which displayed a huge golden bell. Even pulled up into a bun, her hair was wild and untamed. "Please Sam, you have to shake off this angst. If not for your own sake, then for all those FanGirls who say they prefer Dean but then spend most of their time praying for you to take your shirt off. After all, your pecs are far superior to your brother's."

Dean looked at her and raised an eyebrow. "My pecs are amazing."

"We love you abs too!" One girl called from the back. She was quickly silenced. "This is not time for Dean!Diva fantasies," her friend hissed.

Pushing her way in from the left was a Nikki, who many were envious of her beauty. Her over decorated armor displayed her creativity on crack. "Dude," she walked up to Sam and crossed her arms over her chest, "Relax."

A couple Samazons high-fived her as she stepped back. As more Samazons approached, the sentences on Sam's torso shortened from "my heart bleeds" into "puppies frolic at sunrise" type sentiments and faded. Sam's lips regained their color and his eyes found some focus. Dean sat still, his green eyes scanning for threats, his nerves stretched thin.

"Dean?" Sam whispered.

Dean looked down at his brother waiting with bated breath. The warriors of Sam fell silent. Rebecca signaled for them to sit.

"Dean," Sam said again, "I … feel better…what happened…"

"Fangirls," Dean explained with a heavy sigh.

"But…" Sam looked confused.

Rebecca stood and moved forward. "Sam, we've been here all along. And we want to support you."

He looked at her. "Mercedes?"

She laughed, exactly as he remembered, and kissed his eyebrow. "Sam, I'm sorry, forget Mercedes, I'm Rebecca."

Dean looked at Sam, and using their sibling telepathy conveyed that he would explain _so_ much later. "We should let you sleep, huh Sam?"

"Sounds good," Sam conceded, "It's nice to know I'm safe with you, all of you…"

He fell into a dreamless slumber.

In the back one fangirl whispered, but in the silence it was almost a shout, "Can we write a deathfic now?"

Almost everyone in the room turned to glare at her. They left then, satisfied to see Sam's safety guaranteed. Last to leave was Rebecca, she took Dean's hand. "Dean, we're really sorry, and to make it up to you, I've alerted the Dean Divas of your distress."

"Distress?"

"We all know what's it like to have one of those weeks, were you have failed romantic endeavors, get turned into objects, die, get resurrected," Rebecca smiled, "we're sending over some Divas to comfort you."

"Okay," Dean wasn't sure what that would entail, but he would just have to find out later, "Actually Rebecca, can you do me one last favor?"

"Sure, what?" She asked wide eyed, she got out a pen.

"I need you to change to theme of this motel room."

"Easy as pie," Rebecca said waving her arm. The room instantly became silver with blue trim. The bed sheets were tasteful, and the appliances actually looked brand new. She frowned, shook her wrist out, and tried again.

Dean surveyed the Star Trek themed room and smiled. "Thanks."

"No sweat," Rebecca waved goodbye. She blew Sam a kiss goodbye and left. Castiel looked up from the kitchenette and sighed. "It's good to hear Sam's doing so much better."

He set down his oven mitts next to the pan of brownies he had just pulled out of the oven. "Care for a double chocolate fudge brownie?"

Dean shook his head. "No thanks, now if you don't mind I'd like some alone time with Sam now."

Castiel pouted. "Fine, but I'm taking some brownies with me."

He disappeared leaving Sam and Dean alone in the motel room. Dean looked back at the sleeping Sam, and got out his first aid kit. The words were disappearing but there other wounds to address.

**TO BE CONTINUED~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o~o**

**I fully expect words such as 'squee,' and 'hugs' to be in your review. **

**For More TAP fun, if you feel any desire to write it (shudder):**

www(dot)wikihow(dot)com/Write-Teen-Angst-Poetry#Steps

**PM ClydeLives if you like the article, she wrote it.**


	14. Review Time

In case of emergency, should you find yourself out of breath (in case the "_drama_" is to much) there are EMTs standing by ( but they look suspiciously like Sam and Dean) and they are fully capable in the art of CPR.

**Disclaimer:**Use this story as the reason why Erik Kripke won't let me own them.

**A/N**Today Real Life cornered me in an ally, beat me up, took my wallet and then I woke up in a cheap motel in a bathtub full of ice. Fuck Real Life. It stole my goddamn kidney. So sorry the update is late. Does anyone have a spare kidney or metacarpal?

**A/N *CRIES* **I can't believe it's over ... *cries more* ... review if you want an epilouge snippet....

**Chapter Thirteen: Jim Beaver Tweets and Other Online Adventures **

Sam awoke hours later. He sat up and yawned. "Dean? I just had the most fantastic dream…"

Dean looked up from the neighboring twin bed and smiled, "Clowns or midgets?"

Sam stretched is weary joints and smiled. "Neither, there was a hoard of girls… I remember one was Clara…"

Dean got up, retrieved a brownie and glass of milk from the kitchen and walked over to Sam. "Sam, that wasn't a dream. They called themselves Samazons. They were your fangirls and they saved your life."

Sam nearly choked on the bite of brownie he was eating. "What?!"

In excruciating detail, which Sam continually interrupted, Dean explained what had happened during the 53 hour ordeal. Sam ate almost the entire pan of brownies. At the end he stood up and stretched, "Well, I guess the case got done."

"Yeah," Dean scratched his head, "but we'll be back later. Wisconsin always manages to get haunted."

"And they don't even have decent cheese," Sam grumbled.

"Well, I guesses we better get ready to pack up," Dean said sadly. He picked up the brownie pan and walked over to the kitchen so he could wash it.

Sam picked up the laptop, "Alright, but let me check my email first."

A few clicks later Sam landed on a website called fiction for the fans dot net. One story in particular caught his eye:

**_A Harrowing Tale of Great Angst and Seriousness_**_by FateTwistingDeanGurl and loverOf Sam'sPecks09_

_Thx to are beta**: Frannie84**_

_It wuz a normal dai in the universe that okupied Sam (squee) and Dean (omigod) Winchester. Their was war brewin up in the kosmos between angels and demins._

Sam gagged. "Dean, Dean, oh my god," he started to hyperventilate."Dean!"

Dean dropped what he was doing and rushed to his side. "What?"

With a shaking hand, Sam pointed at the screen. "They published it," he said in a horrified whisper.

Dean looked at the chapters long epic that detailed the horrific past few days.

_Dean gave an itty-bitty bark and Sam knew without any logikal pruf that this was his Dean who he loved (as a bruther, Erica, gawd.) _

As Sam moved through the chapters, he stumbled on something Dean didn't expect:

_Casstile slapped on his moustache and smiled eevily and sexilly. (Becca that's freaking hawt) He walked in to tehbowels (giggle) of hell to save Dean (finally)._

"Sam! Don't read that! You wouldn't understand!"

Sam read about the torture and gasped. "Dean, how dare you- I'm your brother. You're here for me; I'll be there for you."

Sam hugged him tightly. "I'm sorry, you had to go through that."

Dean let one lone tear slip down his cheek. "Thank you Sam. Let's end this now."

They pulled apart and stared at the offending website. Then they did the most powerful thing anyone could do.

They reviewed.

o-o---

"Wait, wait, what covert names can we use?" Dean said starring at the anonymous review page.

"We could be Jensen and Jared. You be Jensen. Jared's always been my dream name."

Dean looked at him. "Ok-ay. …That works for me."

o-o-o-o-Alright, now the author can switch scenes-o-o-o-o-o

"Rebecca! Rebecca!" Erica clapped her hands.

"What! What!" Rebecca ran over to where she sat by the computer.

"We got two new reviews!"

"So we got _four _reviews total? But that means…"

"That's the most reviews we've ever gotten on a story!!"

They both screamed excitedly, and clicked to see what they said:

_Jensens_Pecs: _Omg, WTF. A beagle? Why couldn't I have been something masculine like a Rottweiler? BTW, Mercedes. Best. Kiss. Ever.

_Jared_Just_Joking: _Roscoe's soooo cute! OMG. TAP SUX 4EVA!!! Thx ladies, talk to _you _later.

Rebecca furrowed on eyebrow. "Some reviewers are just weird."

Erica looked at the names as recognition tried to trickle in. She gave up, and assumed that the reviewers were complete strangers. "Maybe we should we should get offline today."

"Or we could go write for a drabble challenge," Rebecca said contemplatively.

They high-fived each other and began writing some relaxing stories.

o-o-o-o-o

Sam and Dean, still mildly terrified from the whole ordeal decided to spend on more night in the motel, reluctantly. Dean didn't mind too much, he wanted Sam to rest a little more. He looked over at his brother in the neighboring bed. Sam had fallen asleep merely minuets ago as his adrenaline had faded.

Dean sighed. Good, it was safe then.

He reached under his pillow and withdrew the tattered journal with the broken blue crayon tapped on the cover.

_Dear Diary, _he wrote, _you wouldn't believe what happened today. _

Between the long entries of an abused psyche was also tattered poems scattered.

_I wear my heart  
Upon my sleeve  
I wish that you  
Would never leave._

Dean smiled as he wrote away. He loved poetry.

**THE END**

THANKS TO EVERYONE THAT REVIEWED AND GAVE ME SUPPORT! THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER WRITTEN! It's got the most alerts, most words, and most reviews (but not the most faves for some reason) I love you all, thanks for participating !

**For More TAP fun, if you feel any desire to write it (shudder):**

www(dot)wikihow(dot)com/Write-Teen-Angst-Poetry#Steps

**PM ClydeLives if you like the article, she wrote it.**


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